


Valentine's in Five

by RurouniHime



Series: Nine Days series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Best Friends, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Crush, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, F/M, Fights, Friendship, Hogwarts, M/M, Magic, Post - Order of the Phoenix, Quidditch, Rumors, Sharing a Bed, Underage Sex, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s life has been going swimmingly… sort of. But the approach of a certain holiday has a way of muddling things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Discussion of past underage sex, but nothing actually happens in this story.
> 
> This is a sequel to Nine Days Before Christmas, and as that story was written pre-HBP, this continuation is officially AU. It follows the universe of Nine Days, and thus may be difficult to catch up with if you haven't read the first part. Though this story is not HBP-compliant, it does feature characters from HBP, so there may be minor spoilers for the book.

DAY ONE: February 10th

 _Step 1: Learn to be more sly_

 _Potions classroom, 11:33 AM_

"Just what do you think you are making, Mr Potter?"

Harry jumped, nearly flinging his plate of sifted Feruja Rose pollen into Ron's lap. He raised his eyes to meet the stony expression of Professor Snape.

The entire class had gone expectantly silent.

"Um. The Third Medieval Era All-Purpose Scouring Elixir," he stated, praying that he'd gotten the entire name right. His stomach churned. If only he'd been paying more attention to Snape's whereabouts… Maybe he would have gotten a closer look at the title lettered pristinely across the front board before Snape descended upon them.

Snape's black eyes glittered. "Odd, Mr Potter, that the Third Medieval Era All-Purpose Scouring _Emulsion_ should be the color of a strawberry Ice Mouse."

Harry's throat constricted. Tittering started up behind him. He thought it might be that Greengrass girl, but even Harry knew better than to turn away from Snape to look.

Snape leaned closer. "I should think that someone who has brewed Bellefleur's Cathexis Catalyst would know better than to misuse potions ingredients for a ridiculous sham of a holiday."

Ron shifted uncomfortably beside him and opened his mouth, but Harry kicked him in the shin.

"My apologies, Professor," he forced out. "I must have used too many fern leaves."

Snape's face went so sour Harry blinked. For a moment, he half expected the professor to hex him or maybe order him to drink his unfinished concoction. But the man straightened abruptly. His wand appeared in his right hand and with a sweep, Harry's cauldron was empty. "Thirty points from Gryffindor. Start over. And you will remain here until your potion is a comfortingly drab shade of green."

Someone, a Slytherin, laughed outright. Somehow Harry managed to keep his face blank until Snape glided away. But he wanted to scream. There was no way he'd finish before class ended. And of course it had to be the one day Potions had been rescheduled for the morning. He was going to miss lunch.

Harry looked around as the sounds of potions making commenced around him again. His gaze fell on the two occupants of the next table. Blaise Zabini had a superior look of amusement on his face. He smirked at Harry and shook his head. For some reason it loosened the tension in Harry's shoulders. He smiled weakly at the Slytherin and looked past him to his partner; he could expect more of the same from Draco, he was certain.

But the blond just met his eyes quickly and grimaced. Blaise leaned in and whispered something to Draco. Draco gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. He returned to their simmering potion, which was indeed a very nondescript green color. Blaise frowned. His eyes flicked to Harry, then he too turned away.

"Sorry, mate," Ron muttered. Harry tore his gaze from the two Slytherins and looked at his friend.

"It's just Snape's usual… thirty," he said, shrugging. "Don't worry about it."

But Ron frowned. "Nothing usual about thirty." He picked up their flask of diluted oak sap and poured the rest into the empty cauldron. "Why did you kick me? I would've told him it was my fault."

Harry snorted softly. "Yeah. And give him more of a reason to take points away? He still likes me a little more than you because of my midterm project. For some reason. He'd probably give _you_ three weeks' detention."

Ron grinned weakly and Harry had to smile. He turned to their cauldron and dropped three elderberry twigs into the gently seething sap. "Besides, what's a missed lunch in the face of true love?"

Ron turned redder than the Feruja Rose dust. "Shhh!" he hissed.

Harry glanced up and barely hid his grin. Sure enough, Hermione was staring at them both with more curiosity than usual in her disapproving glare. He waved at her casually and positioned his body just enough to the right to block their cauldron from her view. "It's okay. We still have enough pollen to make it for her."

Ron nodded and dog-eared the page in his potions book, then turned to their day's assignment with a rough sigh. "Can we brew it in our room, do you think? She does have a habit of coming in whenever the notion strikes her."

"Maybe if you made it a point to not be _in_ our room whenever you can manage it this weekend, she won't have a reason." Harry stirred their mixture slowly, already loathing whichever ancient potions expert had concocted the ridiculous idea of five full stirs a minute.

Ron scratched his head and peeked again at the dog-eared page. "Don't even know if I'm doing it right," he muttered. "Probably smell like old Quidditch gloves when we're done."

Harry reached over and flipped Ron to the right page just as Snape walked past. "Don't get your book incinerated. It'll smell fine. She'll love it."

Ron's smile was tender and not directed at Harry or his potions book. "I hope so."

Class was disrupted once again about four minutes from the bell, when Neville's cauldron began to froth splatters of an alarming magenta shade over the rim. Snape whisked over, a fervent gleam in his eye, and Harry craned around, trying to catch Draco's attention. But unlike Blaise, who was watching Neville sputter out an explanation for the interesting qualities of his potion, Draco was not paying any attention to the chaos on the far side of the room. His potion bubbled gaily in his cauldron, green liquid licking at the edges. Draco had pulled out a positively huge potions tome and was reading intently from one of its pages. Harry's spirits fell.

Neville's explanation seemed to have garnered few points; Snape was scowling. "Then once again, you have failed utterly, Longbottom. Clean out your cauldron. You will remain over lunch as well."

Harry sighed, as did Neville. His roommate's partner, a honey-blonde seventh year from Ravenclaw, was eyeing him in a demoralised manner. Harry saw her rub one hand over her belly. Harry's own stomach growled. He sighed and shifted in his seat. Potions in the morning should have tipped him off: it was going to be one of those days.

The bell sounded and all but three of his classmates rose and began to pack. Snape stopped them all with a glare, shrouded in his black robes at the front of the room. "Allow me to issue a small reminder. If _anyone_ thinks of making a pink potion in my classroom this coming week, I can assure you your Valentine's Day will be spent finding our just how well today's scouring emulsion works on cauldrons! Now get out."

Hermione walked past primly, casting a somewhat chagrined but ultimately there-you-have-it look at them both. Ron caught her hand as she went by and she blushed prettily before moving away. Harry watched Draco pack his book bag and raise it gracefully over his shoulder. For a long moment, Harry thought Draco would not even glance at him as he left. But then grey eyes flicked to his, and the faintest of smiles crossed the blond's face.

Harry's heart lifted and he returned his attention to their cauldron. Ron ladled in a healthy dollop of crushed fern leaf and took over stirring. "She'll be a right difficult one to distract from questions this time," he murmured, a smirk twitching his lips.

Harry grinned. Suddenly lunch without food didn't seem so bad.

 

* * *

 _Step 2: Organize some quality time_

 _Lakeside, 2:20 PM_

"Can't we just get this over with?" Draco muttered, slapping at his arms with gloved hands. Without waiting for Harry's response, he strode off, kicking through the thin layer of snow. Harry tugged his hat down over his ears and hurried after him.

"What are you in such a hurry for?"

Draco continued toward the side of the lake at the same rapid pace. "I would _like_ ," he huffed, "to catch a bloody Ice Nixie to take back to that bloody cottage so I can bloody well be done with it."

Harry caught up to him at last and matched his stride, watching the ground underfoot for snow-covered roots and stones. "I hardly think hurrying's going to make a difference. Hagrid'll just send us out for another until class is over."

Draco's eyebrow was nearly at his hairline. The glance he spared Harry was smothered in a self-righteous smirk. "Not according to this." He flicked a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and waved it under Harry's nose. Harry tried to grab it but Draco snatched it away and returned it to his pocket. " _This_ says I'm off this ice-hole of a lawn and back inside the instant I complete today's assignment."

"Inside? Where?"

"Dungeon. Snape's project takes precedence over just about everything, thank Salazar. Couldn't be bloody soon enough in my opinion." Draco's words were interrupted by the chattering of his teeth. He came to a dead stop. Harry nearly went past him. Draco was glowering fiercely upward. "Fuck, isn't it about time you were getting warmer?"

The Slytherin whipped his wand from his coat and flung his arm up, pointing at the patchy blue sky overhead. "Incendio!"

Harry blinked as yellow sparks zinged upward and vanished into the sky. Draco didn't wait for a result; he shoved his wand away and began stomping toward the lake again, muttering.

Harry jogged after him, grinning. "Yeah, now I know you've been working too hard."

Draco turned around fully, not missing a step, and frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Draco. You just shot a warming spell at—" Harry glanced up, shading his eyes. "At that rooster-shaped cloud."

"Rooster?" Draco shot back scornfully. "Potter, that is clearly a basilisk."

Harry shook his head, biting his lip against laughter. "Doesn't look a thing like a basilisk."

The blond turned on him. "Oh, and how the hell would you kn—" He stopped, stared at Harry for a long moment, then rolled his eyes and stomped away again. Harry heard something that sounded an awful lot like "Bloody Gryffindor heroes."

The middle of the lake was still mostly frozen over, but dark water lapped at the edges in a sweep at least as wide as Harry was tall. Chunks of broken ice floundered in the shallows. Harry hunkered down and poked at some of the drifting pieces, trying to find the tell-tale etchings on the edges that marked the recent presence of an Ice Nixie. Draco walked along in front, hands in his pockets, nudging with the toe of his boot at the larger blocks.

"Hagrid's been into smaller creatures lately," Harry ventured. He discarded an oblique slab of ice into the shallows. It splashed his face with freezing water. Draco snorted.

"Not likely. Have you ever seen an Ice Nixie?"

"Oh, yeah. I come down here every day and spy for them. _No_."

"Shape-shifters, Potter." Draco had that look on his face, the one Harry found himself rolling his eyes at often enough. He sat back on his haunches and waited for the lesson. Draco lifted his shoulders and his eyebrows, and smirked at him. "They can be anything they want. They could be you, for all I know. Their size is unpredictable. Water Nixies have been known to take people away and drown them, and then _become_ them."

Harry looked at the bumping ice fragments over the dark water and got to his feet. He backed away from the edge. "Isn't Hagrid afraid one of us could… you know… come back a Nixie?"

Again Draco gave him a condescending look. "Ice Nixies are fairly benevolent, as Nixies go. They don't usually kill anyone. The oaf will probably have us light a torch for him or something. A Nixie won't touch anything attached to fire, and then we'll know who's real."

Harry frowned at him. "That's so reassuring, Draco."

Draco breathed into his hands, hopping from foot to foot in an abrupt, ungainly manner. "Will you just find us one already, Harry? I'm bloody freezing!"

Harry walked over to Draco, rubbing his own hands together. "Seems to me you're the one more qualified to find one. You know everything about them, after all."

Draco hissed at him and went back to breathing puffs of steam into his cupped hands. Harry stopped at his side and gazed out over the lake. The ice was pearly white in the middle, the hillsides a deep, velvety green beyond, scattered with snow. Thick, curling clouds rolled up and over the top, streaking overhead in the wind. Harry watched their shadows flow over the hills and ice; dark, light, dark again. The air was cool and crisp, fresh as mint in his throat.

Truth was, he didn't want to find an Ice Nixie. He hadn't seen much of Draco this last week because of Snape's project, and he'd been so glad of Care of Magical Creatures, especially when it had been rotated to the last class of the day, thanks to Snape's incredible prickishness. It was Friday; he missed Draco, and he'd thought… But if Draco found his Nixie, then he'd leave again. Harry sighed softly and attempted to lose himself in the clear air, the piney scents from the forest, the crackle-pop of ice breaking on the water.

"You wore your coat."

Harry opened his eyes and found Draco gazing at him, a quietness about his features. Harry looked down at himself. His coat was covered in a thin film of sifted snow from the wind, the wine color glowing richly in the sunlight. "Well, it _is_ a bit colder than usual."

When he looked back up, Draco was looking at him pensively, eyes squinted. His expression was queer, almost-bright. Harry frowned and straightened. "What?"

Draco blinked twice and shook his head. Harry was about to chalk it all up to nothing but the necessary Draco-ness when the blond stepped forward and slid his hand over Harry's collar to cup the base of his neck. He met Harry's lips in a brief, warm kiss. Harry stilled, surprised, then returned the kiss haltingly. Draco let out a contented sigh through his nose and stepped back. He wasn't smiling, but his face was more open than usual. Eyes wider.

Harry hesitated, then leaned in a fraction. Draco's eyes flicked away for an instant, and then there was a warm body pressed against him, gloved fingers brushing his hat aside to card through his bangs, and the gentle touch of lips once more. Draco broke the kiss after only a few seconds and licked his lips. Harry held his face gently in both hands, and touched his forehead to Draco's. Their breaths mingled, tiny wisps of fog between them.

A fluttering splash turned Draco's head, and then a hand gripped Harry's arm tightly. Harry peered at the water's edge and saw largish ripples slipping over the rocks by the bobbing ice. From where he stood, he could see the delicate scratch marks decorating the edges of the ice chunks, as if made by little fingernails. "Was that—"

"I think so."

Another splash, and Harry saw what looked like tiny 'feet' made of… _water_ ripple above the surface. He sighed and pulled back. "Alright, what do we do?"

* * *

 _Step 3: A reality check is always readily available_

 _Front atrium, 8:46 PM_

Harry exited the Great Hall in good spirits, despite not seeing Draco there. Dinner had been hot and filling, and Harry had managed quite a lot of it, seeing as he hadn't had lunch. He left Seamus and Lavender cooing and nuzzling at each other over the remains of their treacle pudding, and headed upstairs. Ron's potion would need setting up; the first set of ingredients required a day to ferment in hyacinth solution before the rest could be added. And Hermione would never go poking about under Harry's bed for what she was terming "Ronald's secretive little fixation."

Harry came up to the library floor and thought briefly about detouring inside. Draco would be hard at work, reading that giant tome of Snape's. It was nice to consider giving him a bit of a break. But Harry decided against it before the library door was even in sight. If he left Draco alone tonight, he would have a better chance of distracting him tomorrow.

He came around the corner and saw Susan Bones walking ahead of him with another girl from Hufflepuff. Their voices echoed down the hall and Harry could just hear their conversation.

"…wonder who Leann's going to ask. Had her eye on that Ravenclaw fifth year for a while now."

"She might," Susan answered. "But she's too shy, I think. We should do it for her."

Susan's friend giggled. "Oh, that'll go over well. I'd better just worry about myself. Are you thinking Dean Thomas, then?"

Susan shook her blonde hair. "Was. But I don't think so now. Besides, he's still fixated on Ginny Weasley. It would never work. I was thinking Harry Potter, actually."

Her friend stared at her. "Harry Potter? What about him?"

"I'm going to ask him to be my Valentine."

"But I thought… Isn't he going out with someone? _You_ know." The girl's voice became hushed and she whispered a name to her friend. Susan laughed.

"Oh, please. Everyone knows that's just a rumor."

Harry's feet came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Susan and her friend continued down the hall, their voices fading into silence. Harry swallowed.

He'd known there would be rumors the second Draco had finally left the tower on Christmas morning. Maybe he hadn't been fully considering the magnitude of those rumors at the time - thinking was rather difficult when he was being kissed by Draco Malfoy - but he'd known just the same. It was a certain by-product of living at a boarding school, and more so, of finalizing his relationship in front of nearly every student in his House in the middle of the night. He'd expected rumors.

But he hadn't expected them to take this form. Someday he'd have to write to Rita Skeeter about the particular characteristics of the anti-rumor.

Harry had realised rather quickly that Draco was not the touchy-feely sort. The first week after Christmas had been plenty of evidence that they weren't about to have the sort of fawning, tender public relationship that Ron and Hermione shared. Draco was content just to be around Harry, and plainly discouraged any sort of open intimacy. Harry had agreed fully at first; he was still much too uncertain of how to go about said intimacy at all to want to argue it.

But after… Harry was chagrined to say that he'd been a bit of an idiot, until he realised that he really had no reason to expect otherwise. It wasn't about Draco needing distance in front of his peers; they'd gotten into plenty of arguments over the matter, usually beginning with Harry being petulant and ending with Draco angrily changing the subject or stalking away.

But it never lasted long, and it was always Draco who let it go and found Harry again, kissing him quietly and folding himself into Harry's embraces. Draco had been so twitchy, jittery, unsure of where to put his hands but determined to put them somewhere, uncertain if Harry even wanted it half the time. And Harry had been little better.

He had finally figured out two weeks into their relationship that it wasn't embarrassment. It was Draco trying to get used to this, not him. And then he felt rather stupid. Draco's open display on the rooftop early Christmas morning had taken on a certain desperation in Harry's eyes, and at night when he thought of the implications, they staggered him. He contemplated Draco while staring at the ceiling and listening to Seamus mumble in his sleep. The final conclusion he came to was that it had been much more of a last-ditch, no holds barred effort to undo the damage of their fight than he'd first realised.

The next day, Harry had stopped pushing.

Harry made his way slowly up the stairs toward the Tower, wincing at the aches in his back. The Ice Nixie had put up quite a… tussle. It had nearly dragged Draco into the water before it realised he wasn't going to give up so easily. Still, it could have turned out like it had for Justin Finch-Fletchley: the last Harry had seen of him had been a shivering huddle of thick blankets and warming charms in front of Hagrid's fireplace, with one shimmering Nixie-shaped… thing perched contentedly on his shoulder, leaving a large damp spot.

Ron was not in the common room. Harry assumed he had spirited Hermione down into some alcove somewhere, possibly under his Invisibility Cloak, for some alone time. Or maybe they _were_ in the common room, under the cloak. Harry dismissed the thought quickly, not really wanting to hear strange sounds that he wouldn't be able to explain away as the crackling of the fire.

He made his way up to their room and found Dean on his bed, reading a football magazine. Neville would be out with Padma, and Ron was nowhere to be seen, as he'd expected. He greeted his remaining roommate and pulled his potions equipment out of his trunk.

"That for Ron?" Dean ventured from his bed.

"Yeah." Harry checked his list again, and dumped the hyacinth solution in, as well as a few whole Feruja petals. "Not complicated."

Dean nodded decisively. "She'll like it."

It was almost ten by the time the door opened, and Harry had one wild moment of fear before he saw it wasn't Ron and Hermione. But his greeting to Neville died on his lips. There was a pinched look on Neville's face, one Harry hadn't seen since the war. Dean called a hullo before realising, but Neville did not seem inclined to answer. He went about the business of getting ready for bed with an efficiency that belied his problems in Potions class, and finally pulled his curtains shut without having done more than nod at either of them. Harry quirked an eyebrow at Dean, but the other boy only shrugged.

Half an hour later, Dean put his magazine away and yawned his goodnights. Harry set the cauldron to simmer and covered it, then slid it out of sight behind his trunk and tumbled into bed himself. Seamus fell through the door laughing just as Harry was tugging his curtains closed. He caught Lavender's mischievous giggle from out in the stairwell. Seamus quieted himself, leaned out to kiss her languorously, and then shut the door. He grinned at Harry and waved. Harry pointed to the dark bruise on the side of Seamus' neck and the Irish boy's face went a nice rouge. He snickered and shrugged one shoulder, then headed for his own bed. Harry shut his curtains, and sat there in the dark for a moment, listening to Seamus clunking around with his trunk. He wondered if Draco were still studying, then thought of Lavender's hickey on Seamus' throat and sighed.

The truth was, Harry had chosen a rather standoffish boyfriend. Not that Draco was cold to him. Gods, no, Harry had testament to that under the collar of his own pyjamas. The thing was, no one else had testament to it.

Was he supposed to let Draco take the lead all the time? He'd been doing so, certainly; his boyfriend had shown a definite hesitancy concerning Harry right from the very beginning, before the word 'relationship' had even come up. And as much as Harry had managed to get over their disaster of a fight just after the Yule Ball, the memory of that day - the looks on their friends' faces, the way Draco had avoided his eyes - still twisted his stomach. He was terrified of repeating the incident, and sometimes Draco's temper just rose so fast he couldn't quite…

The hour ticked away slowly. Harry was so immersed in his thoughts that he barely heard Ron's entry, only registering the previous creak of the door when his friend's familiar snores began sifting through the room. Ron and Hermione had never felt the need to hide. Their relationship had been forged out in the open, denied out in the open, and finally cemented out in the open. Everyone in the school knew when they were happy, arguing, or making up. But Harry found he spent a lot of his time answering _Hermione's_ curious questions about how things were going between him and Draco, and she was one of his closest friends.

Did any of the Slytherins know about Draco's relationship? Did Pansy Parkinson pester Draco at all for details, or did she think he'd broken up with Harry despite her surprising machinations to the contrary? Blaise knew, obviously, but Harry had no idea how much he knew. Did the younger Slytherin girls blush and preen and flirt at Draco whenever they saw him? And the older ones, like Daphne Greengrass? Harry thought of Susan Bones and grimaced.

Seamus was mumbling again. Loudly. Harry frowned up at his bed hangings, resisting the urge to press his hands over his ears.

He sighed. It had been over a month. And no one other than their close friends really knew they were together.

~tbc~


	2. Day Two

DAY TWO: February 11th

 _Step 4: Appeal to friends_

 _Road to Hogsmeade, 10:04 AM_

The air was slightly warmer, but no less crisp than the previous day. The clouds had taken over at last, a heavy blanket of gray that threw everything into stark relief; the trees glowed emerald, the earth was a rich brown beneath Harry's shoes, and Hermione's plum-purple coat was a splash of vivid color against the frosted fields beyond. Her long hair stuck out under the knit cap she wore, and Harry resisted the urge to flick the pom-pom on top. His friend's cheeks were rosy with the cold, scarf wrapped three times about her throat, and she leaned into him as they walked.

"The problem is, I can't think what he'd want," she said in a frustrated voice. Her shoulders rose and fell with a jerk. "I've already replaced his Keeper's goggles, and that cauldron he blew up last year. I gave him a new jumper for his birthday. Honestly, Harry, he just doesn't wear the ones his mum sends him anymore, even though they're perfectly good. Oh, I suppose I could get him a—no, no, he's already got one of those! For Heaven's sakes, how am I supposed to get him something he hasn't got when he has so many siblings?"

Harry smiled and touched her shoulder. "Hermione. This is Ron we're talking about. He'd be happy if you gave him Dobby's old tea cozy, if only because it came from _you_."

Hermione licked her lips and looked away. Her mouth opened and closed, and Harry slowed his steps. He gripped her arm, drawing them both to a halt. "Hermione… what's wrong? Why are you acting so… so—"

She whirled on him. "So 'what?' What is it I'm acting like, Harry?" she snapped.

Harry pulled back, releasing her arm. "Well, I was going to say 'distracted' but I take it back. You're like a werewolf on a waxing moon," he muttered.

Hermione's face fell. She fumbled for his hand with her bulky mittens, and looked down at the ground. "Harry… I'm sorry. I'm just a little stressed."

Harry hesitated, then squeezed her hand in his. "Well, I don't doubt it. Head Girl? McGonagall's application for Animagus training? Not to mention your Arithmancy report."

Hermione's bushy hair shook as her head did. "Finished them."

Harry practically choked. "What?" Hermione looked up at him miserably and Harry raised his eyebrows. "Don't even tell me that _that's_ why you're upset, Hermione Granger."

Finally she laughed, a soft, short sound. "No… Face it, Harry, even I know when to say 'enough.'"

"Then what's wrong?"

For a moment, she scanned his face. Then she shrugged and began walking again. "Just… Valentine's Day. I can't think what to get Ron."

Harry frowned, but caught up with her. "I'm sure you'll find something in town."

He could see her chewing her lip. "Yes…"

"Well… I'm getting Draco chocolates. There's this special kind at Honeydukes that he loves. Used to eat them all the time at home."

Hermione's eyes darted to his and then away. She grinned and laughed suddenly, catching Harry off guard. "I suppose you and Draco are planning a fun evening, then?"

"I don't really know what he's planning. But I am hoping to see him," Harry joked.

"Yes, I suspect more than _see_ him, right, Harry?" Hermione's giggle bit into the air and Harry studied her out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were wider than normal, and she had gone rather pale.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright. Don't be silly. I'm just wondering what Ron's getting up to, is all."

Harry's face heated and he looked straight ahead. At that very moment, Ron was in their room futzing with the potion. He'd managed to convince Hermione that he needed the Keeper practice today and that she should _go to Hogsmeade with Harry because the team doesn't need the Seeker to work on shooting and Beating, and Merlin knows Harry's perfect anyway, Hermione, he doesn't need to be here._ Hermione had argued that they had Quidditch practice scheduled for the very next day, but Ron had laughed it off. _Have you seen my Keeping lately, Hermione? Bloody hell._

"What do you mean? The team's practicing."

She tossed him an indulgent smirk. "Oh, yes. That would explain Ginny there, down the road."

Harry caught the flash of red hair in a group of cloaked girls and sighed. Hermione began to chew her lip again.

"Harry, do you know anything about what he's—"

"Hermione, it's a surprise. He doesn't want… I mean, I'm sure you'll like it."

"Oh." She was fiddling with her mittens now. Harry peered at her, a little worried.

"Besides, it wouldn't matter what you got him, Hermione. You two are happy together, like Neville and Padma. I can't see either of you botching a Valentine's Day gift."

"Padma broke up with Neville."

Harry stared at Hermione, mouth open. "What?"

Hermione nodded, a sad look on her face. "Last night. And then she caught a train home this morning. She'll be back Monday, Hannah overheard it at breakfast."

Harry thought back to Neville's return the night before and shut his eyes. "No wonder he looked so… Why?"

Hermione shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest idea. They seemed like they were   
getting along."

Harry eyed her, and then turned around, walking backward and gripping her shoulders. "Are you worried about you and Ron? Because I can tell you that what he's planning isn't anything like that, Her—"

Hermione stopped walking and looked up at him. He was dismayed to see the agitation in her eyes. "Harry, do you know what he's expecting? I mean, do you… Because if he's… I want to give him the right thing."

Harry could only stare at his friend. She blushed deeply and looked at the ground. "It's Valentine's Day. And I just want… I want it to be special for him. But I don't— I've been thinking maybe I should… _we_ should…"

Harry's heart beat once in his chest, and then he understood. It rolled over him in a wave of heat and he blinked rapidly. Hermione caught his expression and looked away, coloring even more deeply. "Oh, Hermione…" he whispered, at a loss.

She flung her hands up and shook her head. "It's not like we haven't talked about it. I mean… he obviously wants to, right?"

Harry took one of her hands in his and stared at it. "I thought you… I thought you two already were."

She rubbed one mittened hand over her eyes. "We… we sort of did. Once. During the war. It didn't… go well."

Harry waited, unsure of what to say. Hermione finally met his gaze, a desperate expression on her face. "Harry, we were drunk, it was late… I think it was the night when Parvati…" She shook her head, looking ashamed. "We've slept in the same bed since then, but we haven't—I mean—"

She sighed and clutched at her head. "But it's past time, right? I mean, he's expecting me to—"

"Hermione." He took her hands and she stilled, staring up into his eyes. He could see tears glittering there and he wanted to hug her, to keep her from crying. "Hermione, it's… He loves you. You know that."

She sniffed, brushing her cheeks with one hand. "I know he… But it's just, we've been together so long, and we sort of avoided talking about it, after. And I feel like I'm not…"

Her voice cracked and Harry enfolded her in his arms. He still felt jolted, as if he'd been hit in the face with ice water. "I can't tell you what he's going to give you. But I do know he's not expecting _that_ from you on Tuesday. He'd never push it."

Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I know… Oh, I know that." She sighed and pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "I'm being ridiculous. I'm his girlfriend, for goodness' sakes. It shouldn't be a big deal."

"Yes, it should," Harry said softly. Hermione caught his eye and gave him a tiny, wavery smile. After a moment they began to walk again. Her arm was tucked around his, a warm press against his side. Harry felt closer to her than he ever had.

"I guess I just thought…" She tilted her head to one side. "So intent on not being left behind." Her voice grew even more timid. "You and Draco must be planning something nice, right?"

Harry looked at her, saw the real question in her expression, and blushed. He plucked at his gloves. "We haven't… I mean—"

Hermione's eyes widened and she waved one hand too frantically. "Not that you _need_ to have done anything or… anything. You've only been together a month and a half and every couple's different, certainly."

"Hermione."

"I'm sorry," she hastened. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No…" Harry smiled at her. "It's okay. It is."

She laughed, but he was glad of the color that had come into her cheeks. "I feel like an idiot."

The air nipped at his face, but he could feel nothing but warmth. Harry slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close. "Then that's both of us."

* * *

 _Step 5: Sometimes research is necessary_

 _Honeydukes, 3:10 PM_

Harry studied the chocolate bins with a frown. Leave it to Honeydukes to order four different types of the same brand. Harry had no idea which one Draco preferred. The first time, there had only been one kind, and Draco had leapt on it. But now… caramel coating? Brazilian toffee? Coconut crème? Or plain dark?

Hermione was across the store, digging through the vat of Pepper Imps in search of the most delicious morsels. She'd relaxed considerably, and was packing a bag full of sweets to take back to Ron. Harry watched her for a moment, contemplating asking her advice. But really. He should know his own boyfriend's tastes, shouldn't he? Hermione certainly knew hers.

Harry picked up a coconut piece and wondered if he could get away with sampling it. The chocolate looked incredibly good: smooth and rich on the outside, with the lightest hint of white through the thin outer coating. But if the chocolates were spelled like the Blood Pops, to emit shrill screams whenever someone tasted them directly from the bin, he wasn't about to risk it.

Perhaps a box, with assorted pieces. Harry reached for a bag to put the candy in, and accidentally knocked elbows with a person picking through the Singing Sugar Swizzles. "Oh, sorry."

The girl turned and squinted at him, brushing her gold-blonde ponytail back over her shoulder, and Harry found himself staring down at Pansy Parkinson. "S'alright, Potter," she said in a neutral voice.

Harry stepped backward, suddenly aware of how cramped they were. Pansy watched him candidly. "Draco doesn't like the caramel ones," she said after a moment.

Harry glanced down at the coconut crème in his hand, then back at her. "I… Thanks."

Pansy shrugged. Her hands were burrowed into the pockets of her pale pink snow jacket, a half-full candy bag looped around one wrist. She looked smaller than usual, wrapped in the bulky material, and Harry struggled to find something to talk about. His eyes settled on her sack of candy. Ice Mice, Licorice Links… Cherry Drops. "Are you shopping for someone?"

Pansy lowered her chin and stared at him. "These are for _me_ ," she stated.

Harry smiled, and Pansy smirked at him, tilting her head. Harry licked his lips nervously. Pansy shifted on her feet, and then both of them spoke at once.

"Potter, are you going to—"

"I was wondering if—"

Pansy blushed, and Harry stared for a moment. He'd never really seen her embarrassed before. In seven years she'd kept her cool in his presence. Usually it was her conniving, smirking cool. But never blushing. He motioned for her to go on, unwilling to continue with his own rather embarrassing question about which chocolate Draco liked best.

Pansy glanced around the shop quickly, like a hunted animal, and then pursed her lips. "I asked…" She lifted her chin. "Are you planning something for Tuesday?"

"I…" Harry fidgeted. He hadn't really thought about it, except that he wanted to be with Draco. Chocolate, definitely. But beyond that, he wasn't sure. "I don't…"

"Because he doesn't like Valentine's Day." It spilled out of Pansy in a rush. She frowned at her feet, then looked him straight in the eye. "I mean it. He'd rather not…"

Harry chewed his lip. "You mean he wouldn't like me to make a big deal, don't you." It had slipped from question to careful statement.

She reddened again, and gave a curt nod. "Don't give him hearts. Or singing… anything. Don't surprise him. I know from experience."

Her shoulders hunched and she gave Harry a weird half-smile. He returned the gesture and looked down at his bag to avoid her eyes. He still couldn't quite get his mind around her behavior toward him and Draco, especially if what he assumed about her history with Draco was true. He didn't know her; he'd never really spoken to her except when classes required it. She hadn't been around him during the war, though he knew her family had been heavily involved in certain aspects of it.

But he'd long known her actions had a lot more to do with Draco than him.

"Can he handle chocolates?" he asked softly. Pansy's brown eyes met his and he felt her studying him. At last she nodded. Her words, when they came, were much more relaxed.

"He'd worship at your altar forever if you bought him the coconut."

Harry laughed, suddenly feeling better. "Speaking from experience again?"

Her smile grew gentler and in that moment, when her cheeks flushed, Harry could see the pretty young woman behind the haughty Slytherin demeanor, the tiny sprig of a nose and flat, condescending expression. "No," she said simply. "But he's already a fan of yours."

With another downward glance, Pansy turned and made her way over to the front counter with her bag of candy. Harry watched as Millicent Bulstrode joined her, setting a sack of Peppermint Toads on the scales and peering at him sidelong as she pulled out her Galleons. Hermione appeared at Harry's elbow, asking him which flavor Sugar Quill Ron preferred, and by the time Harry chose orange cream and looked up again, Pansy was gone.

* * *

 _Step 6: Good things come to those who wait_

 _Slytherin seventh year boys' dormitory, 7:00 PM_

Harry stared at the ceiling, feeling the blood rush into his temples and feet. The green drapes looked strange to him, especially when the rest of Draco's dorm room so resembled Gryffindor's. The room felt colder for the color difference; even without the damp air and the icy stones underfoot, Harry would have shivered.

Across the room, Draco cursed again. He had transfigured his trunk into a desk, and there were notes scattered all over it, mixed with loose scraps of paper and the occasional open textbook. One long finger held place on the page of a tome even more massive than the one he'd been reading the day before, and Draco flipped through a sheaf of parchment with his other hand, fingers flicking faster than Harry could keep track. The feather of Draco's quill swooped to brush his forearm from where it was clenched between his teeth. Harry watched his boyfriend silently; he was lying on his back across Draco's bed and, upside down, the blond's frown looked like an odd little smile.

"No… no. Fucking hell…"

For the third time in an hour, Harry fought the urge to speak. He'd tried that, at the beginning, and had been glared into silence for his trouble. And he'd only been… well, prattling, not to put too fine a point on it. About how cold it was, about Ron's surprise, about Pansy. He'd thought that last topic at least might get Draco's attention, and indeed, at the mention of his friend, Draco had _hmmm_ ed distractedly and muttered her name. But Harry blushed and dropped the subject before getting into what had been said between them. He had a feeling Draco would certainly lose his thread of concentration if he went into detail.

He was still trying to work it out for himself anyway.

He and Hermione had returned to the castle around five, when the sun was dipping under the horizon and the first threads of frost were stealing over the rooftops and fields. In the common room, Ron had pounced on his Pepper Imps with a surprised grin. Hermione's flushed cheeks and bright smile warmed Harry; only the faintest hunch of her shoulders made him pause. He dropped onto the couch and watched Ron throw an arm around her waist, talking a mile a minute about how his brothers used to make him eat three Imps at a time without spitting them out, and guiding her downstairs toward the Great Hall for dinner. He wondered if perhaps he oughtn't catch Ron alone tomorrow and try to figure out just how aware he was of Hermione's predicament.

But now, after an hour and a half of lying upside down on Draco's bed, Harry was no closer to a decision. _Hey Ron, are you hoping to shag Hermione on Tuesday night? Because she's a little worried about opening that particular cupboard of Doxies…_ There just wasn't any easy way to broach that sort of question.

And Draco's steadily worsening mood was nothing if not distracting. The Slytherin let out an exasperated groan and nearly flung his quill onto the floor. He raked a hand through his hair, muttering a string of swear words under his breath, and suddenly attacked his parchment, scratching out everything in long, jagged strokes. Harry frowned and sat up. "What?"

"It doesn't bloody work! I can't find the right combination. The Lavender Creeper Root completely disintegrates the Nightshade in any situation, if the stupid Fyre-Ginger Sap hasn't eaten through the bottom of the cauldron first!"

"How do you know? You haven't tried it yet."

Draco glared at his parchment as if he wanted nothing better than to rip it to shreds. "Potter. I don't have to. I can bloody well tell just from looking at the notes. Snape's insane, this will never work."

Harry fought a surge of impatience. He wanted to give Draco his time to work through this latest setback, but more than that, he wanted to have Draco all to himself. The week had been too long, he was too sick of school related things, and he'd been hoping…

He tried to content himself with studying Draco instead: hair flopped into a mussed state that his boyfriend wouldn't be caught dead with in public, eyes squinted in that knowing, determined way that meant Draco was on the tip of something big… Throat flushed a disgruntled red. His attention settled on Draco's hand. His fingers were curled against the desktop, knuckles white. Harry frowned. He was—

Harry drew in a sharp breath and lurched off the bed, laying his palm flat over the page Draco was reading. "Stop."

The blond's head jerked up, brows knitted over flashing eyes. "What the—? Harry—"

Harry shook his head and grabbed both of Draco's shoulders, giving them a firm shake. _"Draco."_

He reached down and lifted Draco's left hand, cradling it with his fingers. "It's time to stop. Please."

Draco's eyes shifted to his own hand. He watched as Harry uncurled his fingers, revealing four white moons dug deeply into his palm. They faded into reddish bruises even as Harry watched. Draco blinked and then shut his eyes. His body twitched and he sighed fitfully.

"I…" He shook his head. Harry bent, taking Draco's hand in both of his, and brushed his lips fleetingly over the worried skin of the other boy's palm.

Surprise opened Draco's eyes wide. He stared at Harry for a long moment. It was unnerving, being searched like that, but Harry met his gaze without blinking. His lips hovered against Draco's skin, and after a moment, fingers hesitantly moved to cup his cheek. Draco leaned forward and kissed Harry, a tiny, soft press of lips. Harry let him pull away, more content with the faint touch than he'd expected, and was thus surprised when Draco moved forward again and met his mouth - and his body - in a more urgent embrace. Harry dropped his head to the side, almost dreamily; Draco's tongue eased past his lips with a certainty he only showed when they were alone, and before Harry knew it, he was hugging Draco to him, hands curling in his hair, the soft material of Draco's jumper brushing against his bare stomach where his shirt rode up.

At last, they slipped apart. Draco's eyes were hooded, lazy with heat. He met Harry's gaze. "What did you have in mind?"

Harry licked his lip and stared at Draco's mouth. "I was hoping I could convince you to fly a little."

Draco watched him for the quiet space of a breath, eyes traveling over his face, lingering on his lips and chin. At last he spoke, and Harry finally heard the easy tones he'd missed all week. "I think so."

Harry smiled, but was reluctant to pull away. And in that moment, Draco's head darted forward to lay a small peck on his chin. Harry felt his face heating and couldn't stop it, but Draco… was blushing as well.

"Wanted to do that yesterday."

By the time Draco rose from the bed to don his winter coat, Harry was grinning rather foolishly.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the wind was whistling against Harry's cheeks high above the ground. He sat back, balancing precariously as he drew his wayward scarf back around his throat. His hands were cold - he'd left his gloves upstairs - but thankfully, February nights did not carry the same sharp bite as January. His coat was a warm, comforting weight over his torso, and aside from his extremities, it wasn't as bad as he'd expected.

Draco flashed through the air in a downward arc, so close that the ends of his scarf buffeted Harry's arm. The cold had brought a warmth of color to his cheeks, but not the kind attached to anger; Harry felt inexplicably free.

"You know, you're lucky, Potter. Could have been slaving away in the bowels of the castle tonight, instead of soaring around up here."

Harry grimaced and snatched at Draco's coat as he flew by. His grip sent Draco into a wide spin, which the blond pulled expertly out of. "Don't jinx it. He still has time to change his mind and storm out here."

"What were you doing, anyway? Making pink paint?" Draco's voice filled with his smirk and Harry frowned.

"It wasn't me," he shot back. "Ron's making something for Hermione."

Draco's snort of derision was more than audible. "Figures. You should have let Weasley take the blame. Merlin forbid Granger misses out on her priceless Valentine's Day gift."

Harry flicked his hair out of his face. "Sod off. It'll turn out great."

Draco was trying not to laugh; Harry could see it trickling up into his eyes, making them shine with mirth. He sniffed again dismissively and circled closer. "Well. At least I'm glad to hear that you aren't one of those people who exaggerates what amounts to a ridiculous excuse for a holiday with useless love notes and cut-out hearts. Or stupid pink love potions?"

Harry slowed and opened his mouth, but Draco did not seem to notice his hesitation. The blond continued to wheel about in the darkness, closing his eyes against the wind. His face was utterly relaxed. Only then did Harry register his former expression as one of apprehension, replaced now by relief. A small smile quirked Draco's lips. Harry felt his stomach drop.

If he'd doubted even a smidgen of Pansy's earnestness, his hopes were completely wiped away. He sought for the giddiness he'd let himself feel, poking about the shops with Hermione earlier that day, but now he just felt a little emptier. He thought of the chocolates tucked into his trunk and sighed.

"And here I was, hoping to shower you with frilly lace and singing sprites over breakfast on Tuesday," he ventured, keeping his voice light. Draco stared at him, and for an instant Harry worried that his expression had slipped. But then his boyfriend flew closer and Harry saw nothing but horrified incredulity on Draco's familiar features. It was absurd enough to make him laugh. The tension fell away abruptly.

"Go right ahead. I'll be studying potion combinations too deeply to care," Draco said loftily. He dropped a few feet and Harry dropped with him, settling into a comfortable circle around the pitch.

"What's it get you again?"

"Potter," Draco said with an exaggerated sigh, "for the last time, it gets me into my choice of potions related jobs right out of seventh year. Pay attention."

"Thought it was an internship."

"Internships in the right places lead to other, bigger things."

His teaching voice again, as if Harry were a wide-eyed first year. Harry smiled to himself. He squinted into the wind and sped up until he was slightly ahead of Draco. "Where would you start?"

"All the best developers are in London. The Soho Ministry branch is offering, but I'd rather try Pevensie's. The Ministry potions makers are idiots."

"I'm sure Snape thinks so," Harry muttered. Draco shot a smirk at him but didn't retort, and Harry grinned. "So, where would Pevensie's get you, then?"

Draco's excitement was palpable. His voice sucked in and out on the wind as they flew. "Anywhere I want. They supply apothecaries all over England, as well as France, Spain, and Portugal. They've even got ties in America, but I don't want to go that far."

Harry swerved closer. "But I thought… To hear you talk, the Americans are the future of Potions," he chided, somewhat half-heartedly.

Draco shrugged. "My mother wouldn't want me that far away."

Harry caught the clipped tone and wondered if Draco really believed his mother would put up a fight. "When… when do you interview, or whatever?"

Draco shook himself. A smile crept about his features and his eyes glinted. "April. I'm Owling them my potion sample by the first. If they contact me after, I'll go to London."

Harry studied Draco. The blond dipped and swung as if he were born to it, delicate hands sure on his broomstick.

"You'll get it," Harry said, and sped on ahead.

A moment later, Draco caught up to him. He was flying close enough to brush his shoulder against Harry's. "Come on, Potter."

Harry blinked and followed Draco's arc belatedly, swinging around to the highest stands. Draco dismounted and leaned his broom against one of the railings. The stands were dark and silent, shielded from the wind by the tapestry overhang. Harry got off his broom and stood awkwardly, peering around. He rarely spent time this high except when flying, and these were the Hufflepuff stands, besides. Yellow flags flapped against their poles. "What—"

Draco took his hand and pulled him into the darkened rows furthest up. He sat down and jiggled Harry's arm expectantly, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. Harry sat down hesitantly, and Draco scooted closer. He rubbed one bare hand over the sleeve of Harry's coat, then touched his cheek and gave him a slow, sweet kiss.

"Harry?" Such a soft word. Harry nodded. He slid his arms around Draco's waist and the other boy came to him readily. His lips were warm and chapped, and Harry sighed, relishing the sudden press of Draco's leg, their feet tangling together.

Maybe, if it were like this, he wouldn't really mind not making Valentine's Day into a big deal.

The bench was cold under his jeans, and the wind nipped at his cheeks cruelly. But Draco's body was warm, his kisses lazy, and Harry barely noticed the time as it slipped past. They snogged slowly and contentedly as the stars climbed in the sky.

~tbc~


	3. Day Three

DAY THREE: February 12th

 _Step 7: Tackle the problems at hand_

 _Gryffindor seventh year boys' dormitory, 9:34 AM_

It was the sickly sweet smell that woke Harry. He opened his eyes and blinked, then groaned and rolled over until his nose was buried in his pillow. But if it hadn't been the smell, it would have just been an irate Dean two seconds later.

"For the love of God, Ron, you'd better get that… _thing_ out of here before I toss it out the window!"

"Shut up, Dean. It doesn't smell bad."

Harry struggled to find the part in his curtains, and squinted against the bright light of morning. "No, it smells overwhelming, Ron. What… Is it…"

Ron's freckled face was relaxed into a grin, despite a fuming, pacing Dean. "It's fine. Just like the book says. I even think it smells better."

Dean turned with a flourish, wheeling back his leg for a kick, and Ron threw himself bodily in front of the cauldron, a look of horror on his face. "Dean—"

But their roommate was smirking now. "I'm going down to breakfast, Weasley," he said in a much-too-calm voice. "And then I am heading over to Flitwick's for extra Charms practice. And then I will be going into Hogsmeade. Should I return to this room at the end of the day and find that my robes and sheets and trunk and shoes smell like the potpourri from hell, I am going to throw not only the cauldron, but you out the window as well."

Ron laughed sarcastically at Dean's back as he exited the room. He threw a shoe at his roommate. It bounced harmlessly off the closing door. Ron turned back to Harry, already grinning again.

Harry took a breath and practically gagged on the flowery smell. "So. It's working then."

"Like a charm." Ron stirred the mixture steadily with a long handled spoon. It was now a deep rouge with threads of pink running through it. Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Not to be an arse, Ron, but I don't think Hermione is going to like being smelled by witches and wizards all across Scotland. And probably France."

Ron tossed the book at him and Harry had to throw his arms up to keep it from smacking his chest. He flipped to the correct page and read, but Ron recited from memory: "'Your mixture will smell pungently of each particular floral ingredient for a duration of one hour per ingredient. Do not attempt to compensate for pervading odors by adding more ingredients. The smells will localize and combine exactly three hours and twenty-two minutes after you have added the bamboo root.' Which I just put in."

"Ah," Harry muttered. He read on, and his eyes widened. "Ron—"

"Not to worry. I've got it in my trunk."

Harry started. "You have a _fairy_ trapped in your trunk?"

Ron screwed up his face and stared at Harry. "Merlin, no. I've got Hermione's comb in my trunk. Took me forever to filch it from her bag. That girl is absolutely impossible to distract." Ron gave a happy sigh and settled the lid over the cauldron. He brushed his hands off, shaking his head condescendingly at Harry. "I'd never trap a fairy in with my clothing. No, the fairy's up there."

Harry looked up and saw a tiny little figure with glowing wings sitting on the edge of Seamus' wardrobe, kicking her legs delightedly and tittering. Sparkling dust poofed and fluttered from her body with each movement. Behind her sat what looked like a… Harry's eyes widened.

"Ron—"

"Had to give her candy, Harry. She threatened to leave. But she likes lemon. Pity she doesn't know it's one of Fred and George's. But she doesn't eat it, she just… stares at it lovingly. Completely barmy, if you ask me."

Harry shook his head. Maybe he was still asleep and this would all be somewhat normal if he just crawled back into bed and woke up again.

"Well, but you're awake. Finally." Ron stood and smacked Harry's leg. "Thought you were going to sleep forever. I'm bloody hungry, mate."

Harry stared at his friend. "Since when are you an early riser?"

Ron stared right back. "Since I'm hungry. Bloody hell, come _on_."

With much prodding and threatening to shove him out of the dorm in his pyjamas, Ron finally got Harry to get out of bed. He dressed quickly, still worried about Ron's threat, and headed down to the Great Hall, rubbing the haze from his face and eyes. He felt like he'd been spelled by some sprite to sleep forever. His whole body was deliciously tired, and he'd been dreaming of the reason. White-blond hair, warm fingertips and soft lips. They'd certainly stayed out late; it was a miracle neither of them had been caught sneaking back into their dorms. Harry wasn't even sure if Draco had been so lucky, but he suspected his boyfriend had managed to slip in undetected by anyone who would care. Harry had been planning on sleeping until at least ten to make up for it.

But Ron was hungry. Of course.

The Great Hall was surprisingly empty; most of the other students had gotten a jumpstart on Hogsmeade again after a tiring week of classes. Harry sat down in front of an empty plate at Gryffindor table, rubbing his eyes and picking up some toast. Ron had downed an entire serving of sausage and eggs before Harry had even finished buttering his first slice. He looked around, chewing.

"Where's Hermione?"

"Library, with all her Muggle Studies books. I believe her exact words were, 'Now that you're having _real_ practice, I can study and not feel like I'm being avoided, can't I?'"

Ron was glaring. Harry rolled his eyes and took a sip of pumpkin juice. "Don't blame me. Ginny was in Hogsmeade yesterday and Hermione saw her."

Ron's grumbling was audible. He stabbed at his potatoes with his fork. "Lock that girl in the broom shed next time."

"Hmm."

"Where were you so late last night? Heard you come in."

Harry nearly dropped his goblet. "Um. Flying. I went flying."

"Who went flying?" Ron's tone was flattening out. Harry reached for an orange to occupy his hands.

"We went flying," he corrected, not looking at his friend. Ron's silence was weighted, and Harry hastened to fill it in. "Draco wasn't busy, so we went out for some Quidditch."

He looked up at last and found Ron watching him, face carefully blank. His friend inhaled through his nose, slowly. "So. How's that going, anyway?"

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. Draco was still a very sore spot with Ron, ever since the massive row just after the Yule Ball. If he closed his eyes, Harry could still remember the anger on his friend's freckled face, the pulse of energy into the room as he stood between him and Draco. But since then, Ron had opted more often for uneasy silence than anything else when Draco's name arose, allowing Hermione to ask the questions. Harry was thankful beyond words for his friend's discretion, but all the same, he could feel the tension as if it were a palpable object resting in his hand.

"It's fine. We're… fine."

Ron leaned on one elbow and took a huge bite of toast. His eyes were on his food. "I never see him around," he said shortly.

Harry winced. "I don't either."

 _That_ had been the wrong thing to say; Harry knew it as soon as the words left his lips. Ron's eyes shot to his and his face began to color.

"He's been busy," Harry added quickly. "Snape's project and everything with Arithmancy… This week's just been busy, that's all."

He could practically hear the words Ron was holding back. His friend's blue eyes had darkened; it was becoming a visible struggle. Harry sought for a distraction. "Have… have you got everything for the potion, then?"

For a moment, Ron looked so reluctant that Harry was afraid his change of topic would go ignored. But then some of the red faded out of Ron's face and he let out a breath. He began eating his potatoes once more. Harry again thanked whoever was in charge for his friend's recent development of tact.

"I put in all the different flower pollen before you got up. All I'm waiting for is the combination process, and then I'll dip Hermione's hair in and add the fairy dust."

Harry couldn't help but grin. The potion really was a stroke of genius, both the creator's for developing it, and Ron's for thinking it up as a gift. It was a perfume, designed to react to the wearer's mood. It contained at least five different flower scents of the brewer's choice, and depending on what Hermione was feeling when she put it on, it would smell like one of the five. Hermione's hair wouldn't go into the potion, technically; it would just be dangled into the mixture for several minutes to temper the solution to her specific characteristics. And then the fairy dust would be added to make her skin sparkle. The perfume would work on no one but her when it was finished.

Harry was very curious to see it, and smell it, in action. He grinned at Ron. "She'll love it."

His answering smile was shaky. "Merlin, I hope so. Sometimes I wonder if she's really the type to wear perfume. There are still some things I haven't asked her."

Harry's stomach squeezed momentarily. He put down his pumpkin juice. "Ron… Are you two going to do… anything special on Tuesday?"

"You mean besides me presenting her with the culmination of my self-enslavement?" Ron was grinning.

Harry forced a laugh and nodded. Ron shoveled more potatoes into his mouth and swallowed. "I was thinking of sneaking her down to Hogsmeade for dinner. There's a nice bistro… Don't know if she'll go for it, but if all else fails I can promise her new Arithmancy books in return for breaking the rules. Always works like a charm."

Harry waited, and Ron's smile turned puzzled. "Er… that's all. Why, did she have something else she wanted to do?"

Harry shook his head, a bit too quickly. "No, that sounds… that sounds good. She'll like that."

"Harry, did she say anything to you? Was there something specific she was—"

"No." Harry gave up. It was impossible; you couldn't just ask a question like that, not to your best friend, as if you were accusing him of something. Not about his sex life, especially when you had no idea what the term 'sex life' entailed, yourself. Ron's confusion looked genuine, and until Harry could figure out some other approach, he would just have to assume it meant that Ron wasn't planning anything along the lines of sex.

He finished his eggs in two bites and stood up before Ron could organize his next question. "Come on. I want everyone out there in time for practice, and I know a few people who will be trying to avoid it today."

Ron followed him out, grabbing two apples and a honey biscuit as they passed Ravenclaw. "I'll get Peakes and McDonald. They'll be snogging in the Astronomy Tower, or I'm not a seventh year."

* * *

 _Step 8: Exercise is good for the soul_

 _Quidditch pitch, 1:31 PM_

Harry rubbed his hand across his face as the Quaffle sailed past the hoops yet again, missing them by at least a body length. He struggled to put a cap on the irritation bubbling up inside him. "Alright, stop, stop! Just… stop, everyone, take a break. Frobisher! Peakes, watch the Bludgers, you idiots, you're going to knock each others' heads off!"

He could see Ron balancing with one hand against the right outer hoop; the grimace splashed across the redhead's face looked very much like the one Harry wanted to be wearing. He rubbed his eyes again and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Priya? Priya!" Harry waved the willowy Chaser down. Priya Nagra abandoned her halfhearted pursuit of the Quaffle and circled slowly through the air toward him. Her dark hair was coming out of its braid and she was breathing hard. "Priya, you missed the hoop by seven feet!"

"I'm sorry, Harry." She shook her head. Her knuckles tightened around her broomstick and she wiped her forehead. "Let me try it again, please? My boyfriend and I are fighting… I'm not at my best."

Ginny swung in and hung in the air above Harry, smirking playfully. She spoke in a sing-song voice, "Yes, let her try it again, Harry. She and her boyfriend are _fighting_ , she's not at her best."

Priya cast Ginny a pleading look. "Oh, shut up, Ginny."

"Priya, you and your boyfriend are always having a row," Ginny countered. "Can't wait for you two to get married, maybe then we can play some Quidditch, yeah?"

Priya's face went stormy. Harry glared at Ginny and then looked at his fourth year Chaser. He patted her broom handle lightly and spoke in a low voice. "Bad weekend for it, though."

Her brown eyes locked on his and she smiled weakly. Ginny let out an   
exaggerated sigh.

"Can I _please_ get on with my life now?"

Priya began to circle away, performing the quick twists and turns for which Harry had put her on the team. "What's it to you, Weasley?" She smirked loftily. "Jealous I'll be getting a Valentine?"

Ginny snorted. "As if I even wanted one. I don't base my life around the attention of boys, unlike some people."

Priya stuck her tongue out, but Ginny wasn't looking at her. She was staring past Harry with a look of queasy consternation on her face. "However," she said, "I do know someone who will be getting a lot of said attention..."

Ron followed his sister's gaze, then looked skyward and groaned. Harry twisted around to see what they were staring at. What looked like a small flock of red birds was fluttering and swooping through the air toward him. Harry had a split second of abject horror as he realised what they were.

"Oh, Merlin."

A swarm of little red paper hearts suddenly surrounded his head. Harry dodged one particularly close flyer and batted at the flock until it swept around in front of him and hovered there. Ron swung in close, eyes wide. "Two days early, Harry. You're moving up in the world."

"Shut up," Harry grumbled. A bright pink heart fluttering limply at the front of the swarm was currently trilling to him in a high, reedy voice to _open me, Harry, me first!_

"Harry, is that what I think it is?" Ginny ventured, pointing at a much larger Valentine flapping madly through the middle of the pack. Harry took one look and thought very seriously of zooming away over the Forbidden Forest and never coming back to Hogwarts again. A chorus of giggles sounded below. Harry caught sight of Romilda Vane and her gaggle of fifth years in the stands next to the other observers.

"Yes, Ginny, that's a bloody Howler." His stomach was starting to hurt.

The thing was beginning to smoke and spark. Harry snatched it out of the air and tore the seal with shaking fingers. Immediately the shrill screech of an unrecognizable voice caromed across the field. "HARRY POTTER, YOU ARE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, WON'T YOU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BE MY ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE, I'LL CARRY YOUR BOOKS FOR YOU ALL DAY ON TUESDAY AND I'LL EVEN MAKE YOU COOKIES, I'VE LOVED YOU FROM THE DAY I CAME TO HOGWARTS, I KNOW I'M YOUNG, BUT YOU AND I WERE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER, I CAN FEEL IT, WON'T YOU PLEASE BE MY—"

A bang erupted to his left, followed by a shower of sparks. The Howler exploded in a blast of smoke and ash. Ron pocketed his wand, glaring at the now burning swarm of Valentines. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Cheers, Ron." Harry batted at the other Valentines, but only succeeded in being mobbed by the swarm of them. Victoria Frobisher flew up and tossed him her bat to even things out. Harry swung and clubbed, and finally succeeded in knocking the flock to a safer distance. Still, they hovered, as if waiting for the right time to zoom in again and pelt him with sweet nothings. There were no more Howlers apparent, but Harry did catch a glimpse of some bulky envelopes struggling to stay afloat.

"Looks like your fan club is alive and well," Ginny stated good-naturedly. Harry couldn't help it; it was like watching a Quidditch accident. His eyes dropped to the Hufflepuff stands, where all the giggling was emanating from, and he felt his face begin to heat up.

Megan, the fourth year Ravenclaw who had practically fallen over her own feet at the Yule Ball trying to get away from him, was in the stands. For a split second, Harry wondered if she had charmed one of the flapping, squeaking hearts. But it just wasn't her style. She liked to watch from afar, content to simply soak him in with her eyes. Watching his Quidditch practices had become routine for her, and he'd managed to forget she was there for the last few weeks, despite Ron's smirking protests that "Ravenclaw will find out all your top-secret _moves_ , Harry!"

But Romilda Vane was much, much worse than Megan could ever be. Harry peered at the stands through the ripple of red paper, saw Megan eyeing the other girl with a disgusted quirk of her eyebrow, and felt himself blush. He could still feel the cool wood under his jeans, and taste Draco's mouth, feel his tongue coaxing him deeper. The thought that they'd made out, right where Romilda Vane was now strutting about and leering up at him… Harry looked away hurriedly.

A flash of gold near the ground caught his eye, and Harry's stomach dropped even further. Draco's familiar figure was walking across the lawn toward the school doors. Harry wondered how much he'd seen, and knew that if he'd seen it, he'd most likely heard it all too. He'd been watching the practice and Harry hadn't even noticed. And now he was leaving. Romilda Vane giggled again, high-pitched, and Harry gritted his teeth, wondering why the world was so bloody unfair.

"Carry on," he shouted, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. "Frobisher, Peakes, practice your Dopplebeater. The rest of you, I want the Woollongong Shimmy perfect in the next half hour or we stay out here till sundown!"

* * *

 _Step 9: Expect the unexpected_

 _Gryffindor changing rooms, 5:49 PM_

 

"Harry. There's an antsy third year out here with something for you."

Harry groaned and looked at the shower-damp head sticking through the open door. "Is it any shade of pastel? Because if it is, I'm not here."

Ron grinned. "Definitely not a Valentine, unless some teacher is pulling you. You'd better get out here, he's more fidgety than a house elf."

Harry threw his practice clothing into his bag and tugged a clean jumper over his head, then walked to the door, more curious than he wanted to admit. Outside, there was indeed a third year boy, bouncing back and forth from foot to foot. When he saw Harry, his face broke into a wide smile and he hurried forward. "Harry Potter? Harry Potter, this is for you."

Harry leaned his broom against the building and took the slightly crumpled parchment from the boy's outstretched hand. He opened it, eyeing his messenger as he did. The boy was small for his age, with mousey brown hair and a long, thin nose. His eyes looked almost too big for his face. Not quite sure what to do, Harry smiled uneasily and looked at the note instead.

 _Mr Potter,_

 _Please come to my office as soon as possible. There is something we must discuss._

 _M. McGonagall_

Harry flipped the parchment over, but there was nothing else. Nervousness tightened his stomach. "Did she say what she wanted?"

The boy shook his head emphatically, eyes shining as if it just made his day to converse with the great Harry Potter. "No, no, she didn't say anything. Just to give that to you, so I did. As soon as I could. I knew exactly where you'd be, you know."

Harry nodded. "Well… um…"

"Christian, I'm Christian."

"Um, thank you. Christian."

The boy nodded so happily Harry thought his head would bob right off his shoulders. He backed up, still smiling dazedly, and then turned and scampered for the castle doors, robes flying out behind him. Harry watched him go, feeling a dull pang in his gut. For a moment, in the waning twilight, the boy reminded him of Dennis Creevey.

Harry picked up his broom and headed for the castle. It had been strange, to be suddenly bereft of the two shadows that had followed him around beginning his second year. If their departure had been for any other reason than the reality, Harry would have allowed himself relief. Instead, all he could feel was helplessness. And remorse. The Creeveys had been the victims of an attack on Muggle-Wizard families during the ending stages of the war. Voldemort's last hurrah. Harry's lip twisted bitterly. Colin had lost an eye, and much of his mind for several months. And Dennis…

Harry yanked at the edge of his jumper as he walked. He'd struggled with this already, when it had happened. Like everything else about that damned war, there was nothing he could do now to change what had occurred. But it liked to sneak up on him some days.

Early returnees from Hogsmeade were already filing into the Great Hall for dinner when he got into the castle. Harry headed right past, despite the growling of his stomach, and mounted the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. He'd put his Quidditch gear away, and then go find out what his head of house wanted.

By the time he'd stowed everything, the vague nature of the note was beginning to play on his mind. What did McGonagall want? She never called him to her office. Had he forgotten something important? Maybe she wanted to talk to him about the upcoming match against Hufflepuff. Harry shook his head, exiting the common room and heading for her office. Unlikely. She was never all that vocal about her desire to win the House Cup. What did come out on the subject was usually an accident, and inspired by vehement 'discussions' with Snape. Harry stopped walking and read the note again. His stomach began to churn.

Had he failed a test? True, he hadn't really studied for the last one, but it had either been that or spend the evening with Draco, and Harry's decision had not been difficult. Besides, he'd felt uncommonly comfortable with the material that time, and the actual test-taking had been easy. Or so he'd thought. Maybe he'd really messed everything up quite badly, and now she was going to chew him out for lack of dedication to his studies.

By the time Harry reached the professor's office, his head was swimming with possibilities, all of them bad and getting worse by the second. What had he done? What _hadn't_ he done? Was she taking away his team captaincy? Had he really performed that badly on the exam? Did she know about Draco and wish to comment on his propensity for distraction? Perhaps Snape had complained about his botched Potions class and she was going to berate him herself.

Harry knocked on the door. A sparse "come in" was all he got. He opened the door to find his professor seated behind her desk, a quill poised over what looked very disturbingly like their last exam.

"Potter." Professor McGonagall straightened and waved him in. "Sit down."

Harry took a seat across from her and perched on the edge, trying to keep himself still. His head of house laid her quill down deliberately and fixed him with a shrewd look. "I've been meaning to speak to you about the results of your latest exam."

Harry swallowed. "I… Yes, Professor?"

She selected the topmost paper - covered in red marks - and held it out to him. Harry took it hesitantly, afraid to look at it. "I wish I could say that your results surprised me, Potter, but in fact, they have not surprised me for some time."

She waited, eyebrows high on her forehead, and clasped her hands together over the pile of exams. "Frankly, your latest results only confirm what I have long suspected, and have convinced me to approach you concerning a certain matter."

"Professor—" Harry started, but could go no further. He glanced down at his test, and the scribbles of red swam across his vision. He focused in on the note closest the bottom of the parchment, and just as he was comprehending what he was reading, Professor McGonagall spoke.

"Highest marks in the class, Potter. For three straight exams. Even Ms Granger did not score so high."

Harry's head shot up to stare at her, then back down at his test. The red writing was not the admonishments he'd expected; rather, it was note after note after note: _Intriguing approach, Potter... A shortcut only few are aware of… Excellent application of magical theory…_ He raised his eyes and found his professor smiling tightly at him.

"You have always shown a great deal of promise in this subject, Potter," she said in a warmer tone. "But it is your success in your other subjects, as well as your recent performance under… extreme duress, that impresses me most."

She was talking about the war, in that careful way of hers. Harry flushed at the praise. He was finding it hard to meet her eyes.

"I would like you to consider an opportunity in the next few months. It is a rigorous series of written and physical tests designed to determine your aptitude for training as an Auror."

Harry stared at her. "What?"

She frowned slightly at his response. "Yes, Potter, an Auror." McGonagall pursed her lips. "This application will allow you to attend Auror training after the conclusion of your seventh year, and may possibly lead to a professional position in later years, depending on your progression. I will assist you in preparing for the three exams, as well as honing the other skills you will need to become a successful Auror. It is a difficult set of exams, and the training will not be easy, but it will be incredibly rewarding. If that is something you are interested in, then I strenuously suggest you consider this opportunity."

Harry sat back, trying to reorient himself. "I…" He met her gaze, heard her words in their entirety, finally, and felt a flood of warmth in his chest. "Professor, I wasn't expecting… I mean, I thought you were going to…"

A tiny smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. It was infectious, and Harry felt his own lips curve upward. He took a deep breath. "I'm interested."

"Good." Professor McGonagall sat back, her expression relaxing into the closest thing to delight Harry had ever seen on her face. "I'm very glad to hear you say that, Potter. I will acquire the necessary information and paperwork for you this coming week, and then we can begin the process."

"Is it… difficult?" For a moment, Harry felt stupid. She had just said it would be, hadn't she? McGonagall eyed him for a few seconds.

"It will not be easy, Potter. I… believe you already know of Mr Malfoy's application?" There was a knowing, playful spark in her eye that made Harry want to crawl under the table. He nodded, cheeks flaming.

"I've asked him about it."

She nodded curtly. "Yours will be similar, except that you will be going directly into training, should you be accepted. The process is the same level of difficulty, but the tests differ greatly." She stood and held out her hand. Harry placed his written test into it and stood as well. McGonagall inclined her head.

"Don't worry, Harry," she said in a softer voice. "I intend to assist you in any way I am allowed, but this will already be easier for you than most, considering your background."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said sincerely.

She gestured toward the door. "You may go now, Potter. I will speak with you again when the paperwork arrives."

Harry left her office dazed, and winded. It certainly hadn't been what he'd expected. Truth was, he was rather frightened of being an Auror. He hadn't been planning on it, not with his uncomfortable proximity to Moody over the last few months of the war. But now, seeing it stretched out in front of him, tantalizingly obscure and mysterious, and - could he fault himself for this at all? - without the hanging threat of Voldemort over the entire idea… his excitement was overriding everything else, and growing.

~tbc~


	4. Day Four

DAY FOUR: February 13th

 _Step 10: Listening can be sobering_

 _Transfiguration hallway, 7:37 PM_

Harry came out of Defense Against the Dark Arts in a black mood. It was bad enough that it was nearly dinnertime and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of his boyfriend all day. And Harry did not count the obligatory smile across the Great Hall at breakfast, nor did he put much stock in a Charms class during which Draco had been seated across the room and unable to partner with him. On top of that, Neville had been in an extraordinary state that day, and had begun Charms by promptly shattering all of the glass cabinets in the room with a vociferous expelling charm. And then - and Harry was still tamping down his surprise at this - his roommate had proceeded to snap at Professor Flitwick when remonstrated about it. The ensuing class-wide astonishment and magical clean-up process had taken away any chance Harry would have had to wander over to Draco and spend another delayed Charms lesson talking.

Lunch, and no sign of Draco. A brand new host of fluttering Valentines soared around his food so thickly that he couldn't see what he was eating. It was even bigger than the rain of cards the owls had dropped on him at breakfast. The only thing that had helped that morning was the sight of Draco's face over his toast and eggs as he incinerated his own batch of flopping cards with one snarled spell, causing a riot of shrieking from the Slytherin girls. But he wasn't at lunch and there was no way for Harry to laugh with him about it. Then Advanced Defense, which one should not attempt while distracted, as Harry soon found out. He'd never wished so hard to fade into the floor. Of course, today would also be the day when the Defense professor was out sick, and who should march in to substitute, but his head of house. The disappointment on Professor McGonagall's face had cut at Harry's pride like a sharp blade. But, seeing as it was only half a day since her praise of his abilities and offer of fine-tuning them in time for Auror training, Harry could hardly blame her.

Maybe if he just went back and spoke to her, explained that he'd been… No. No, no, no, he was going down to dinner, to _eat_ , finally, and then he was going to find Draco like they'd planned before parting Saturday night, and forget this rotten day. And then he was going to, hopefully, be relaxed enough to fall asleep. Preferably… Harry stopped and chewed his lip. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep with Draco next to him. Once, over a week ago, Draco had been in Gryffindor dorm with him, and had claimed to be too tired to make it all the way back to Slytherin. It had been one of the worst sleeps Harry had ever had in his life; his body simply was not used to having another breathing, dreaming, shifting person next to it in bed. He'd woken more times than he could count.

But the night had also been one of the best of Harry's life because every time he'd woken, it had been to find Draco there, head cradled by one of his pillows, body pressed like a warm blanket all along his left side. They hadn't slept in the same bed since, but Harry would have to be stupid to ignore the building desire to try it again.

The only thing holding him back was the feeling that Draco might shy away from such a proposal. It had been an accident last time; Harry did not want to tip the fragile balance of their relationship, if there was one.

However. The nervous anticipation he was feeling in spite of things was all that was keeping him from blowing holes in the stone walls. The other less savory events of the day pressed down on him, and he found himself grumbling as he walked. It was certainly not the right time to come around a corner and find the hallway packed with his fellow students.

Harry stopped and took in the scene. A few fourth year Ravenclaws were leaning against the wall closest to him. They straightened, wide-eyed, when they saw him, and brushed down their robes. Beyond them, Terry Boot shifted from foot to foot, reading a thick Muggle paperback as he swayed. He seemed completely oblivious to the others around him, even the small group of Ginny's friends from Gryffindor, who were huddled very close to where he stood. Harry looked past him and saw Hermione, her book bag slung over her shoulder; she was hunched near the next turn in the hallway as if listening. Ron stood next to her, and behind them both, Blaise Zabini sat against the wall with his knees bent, an utterly bored look on his face.

Harry opened his mouth. "What are you—"

"Shhh, be quiet!"

Harry looked askance at a sixth year Hufflepuff to his left, who was currently shushing him. He'd never spoken to the boy before, and was definitely not in the mood for this. But before he could rile his anger, the Ravenclaw girl on the other side of him began to whisper. "Can't go around the corner yet."

Harry looked at the corner, then at the girl. "Why n—"

"Shhh. Be quiet."

This time it was Boot, not even glancing up from his book as he whispered. Harry stepped forward curiously. Ron glanced up and motioned him over. "Harry," he whispered, "come here and listen."

Harry made his way around the Gryffindor girls. "What's going—"

"Shhhhh, Harry, be quiet!" This time it was Hermione. Harry spun on her exasperatedly, but now Hermione was whispering too. "We're waiting until they're done out there."

"Out wh—"

"Shhhhh, Harry, be quiet," Zabini mimicked lazily, a devilish smirk on his face. Harry glared at him and then grabbed Hermione's arm.

 _"Hermione,"_ he hissed. "What the hell is going on? And don't shush me!"

She looked at him as if she were considering doing just that, then pulled him away from the corner. Only then did Harry pick out the sound of raised voices. He stared after them as Hermione dragged him along, nearly back around the next turn in the corridor before he yanked himself to a stop and glared at her. "Hermione—"

"Padma just got back, and we're waiting for them to finish fixing things. You can't go around the corner, they're at a very heated moment in their conversation, and I simply will not let anyone disrupt them." She lifted her chin in challenge, and Harry pursed his lips.

"What are you talking about? I'm hungry, and that's the only way down."

"And I've been stopping everybody, not just you! Don't you remember? She broke up with him, and from the sound of things, she didn't tell him why. So I'm giving them the time to figure it out."

Neville's voice broke through any retort Harry was about to give, and Harry froze, surprised by the rancor underneath his roommate's words. "Why can't you just tell me what's wrong? Did I do something? And you are not just over me, don't even say that again!"

Harry blinked and moved back down the hallway; Hermione followed, biting her lip. Ron's face was pinched. He leaned with one hand on the wall and listened to Padma's response.

"Merlin, Neville, can't you just accept that it's private? It's a private matter! I don't have to explain!"

Neville's voice rose into a near shout, and Harry wondered suddenly if there weren't an equally sized group of students around the corner beyond the two, listening in. "I don't care if you think it's private. It's not private, we're a couple! It concerns me too!"

"Yes, well, maybe I don't want to be part of a couple right now, Neville!" Padma's tears were dripping into her voice, though Harry had a feeling they had not made an appearance on her cheeks yet. "Can't you just respect my wishes this once?"

"No, I can't. I choose not to. That isn't what this is about."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He'd never heard Neville this angry. Not lately, anyway.

Padma's voice went a bit hoarse. "I knew it. I just knew you'd do this, from the beginning, I knew you couldn't possibly respect—"

"So you were waiting for it, then," Neville returned wearily. "Waiting for a reason to break this off?"

"No!" Her voice had been rapidly growing ragged, but this single word held such pain in it that Harry locked eyes with Hermione. Over by the wall, Zabini's smirk had slipped off his face, and even Boot had put his book away and was paying attention. "No, Neville, no, I wasn't _waiting_ to break this off! I just… Why are you pushing me? I don't want to fight. It's over, I just wanted to move on! Why can't you do that?"

Suddenly Neville's voice was calm, but his words still held fire. "Because I don't believe you, Padma. And I think you owe me just a little more than a single sentence before escaping back home."

"Neville, I know what I said! And I meant it. Alright? I don't want to be a couple right now."

Something about the last sentence made Harry frown, and around the corner, Neville paused. The silence hung thick on the air. Hermione clutched at Harry and Ron's arms, fingers digging into their skin.

"What do you mean, right now?" Neville's voice was a wondering murmur. Harry heard Padma's breath catch. "Right now… This _week_ , Padma?"

She didn't speak for such a long time that Harry would have thought they'd both left, had it not been for Padma's heavy breathing. The scuffling sound of a shoe. And then…

"Padma, is this about Parvati?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide. Ron was looking at Harry, and all Harry could think about was the weight that had hung in Ron's gaze that night during the war, when Padma's cries had filled the night. The shadow still played around the edges of his friend's face. They'd all tried to pretend, that night. But the reality was inescapable.

"We always did Valentine's Day together. We always…" Padma sniffled, her words fading into the emptiness. Harry felt it in his chest as if he had spoken them himself, as if he were feeling it. "And now I'm… I'm alone."

They heard Neville move. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and began to squeeze. She shut her eyes. Harry strained his ears.

"You're not alone, Padma."

Padma's sniffs slid into sobs, quiet gasps that echoed down the corridors. Harry wanted to see it, more than anything in the world, because he knew Neville was holding her now, rocking her back and forth. He held himself still next to his friends and waited.

"I…" Padma choked and tried again. "I don't know how to do this, Neville. I'm not a good girlfriend, and I don't know… how to _do_ this anymore."

"How to do this, or how to do this without her?" Neville asked softly.

Another sob. "Some days, I just feel it more," she gasped out. "I just _feel_ that she's not…"

"Not here."

Padma moaned, and the sound was muffled, as if her face were buried in Neville's shoulder. Neville continued to speak.

"Don't give this up, Padma, please. I won't let you be by yourself with this. Just… tell me. I'm not ashamed of you, or embarrassed. Cry, or yell, or hate me, blame me, I don't care. But tell me about this, tell me when you feel like this. Let me be with you, please."

Harry had never been so thankful that it was Neville, pensive and sweet, who had finally broken through Padma's stupor, that it was Neville who held her now, who understood. Neville, who had lost his parents, who had, on the battlefield, backed away at last from the woman who had cursed them into insanity, who had refused to become what had destroyed his family.

Neville who would kiss her. Neville who would teach her to feel again. Neville, who would pick up all the pieces she had left and pull her back together in spite of her. Hold her as tightly as she needed, and let her beat and cry and cling to him as much as she had to until it was all out. If any one of them had the strength to do such a thing…

Hermione was smiling, wiping at her eyes with one hand. Ron looked pleasantly surprised. "Alright, Nev," he mouthed. But Harry felt shaken, as if the floor had quaked beneath him, spilling the loss - and gain - of the war at his feet once more. There were still holes everywhere, even months after the final spell had been cast, the ultimate blow struck. There were still holes inside of _him_ if he looked hard enough.

It was some time before they heard Neville and Padma walk slowly down the hall, whispering in hushed voices. Then their little group began to trickle away, down toward the Great Hall to catch the tail end of dinner. Harry followed Ron and Hermione, feeling very subdued.

* * *

 _Step 11: Don't get cocky_

 _Slytherin seventh year boys' dormitory, 8:13 PM_

"Mafelda's twisted knickers, what the fuck do you—Oh, Harry."

Harry risked a half smile at Draco's bewildered expression. "Hi. Can I come in?"

The look on Draco's face morphed through confusion, exasperation, and weariness. He rubbed at his temple with his fingers. "You don't know how many times I've had to tell Pansy and Millicent to fuck off in the past hour."

Harry edged under Draco's arm into the room and was hit full on by a choking, pasty smell. He stifled a cough and blinked. Draco's potions apparatus was set up again: books stacked on his bedspread and his desk-nee-trunk, vials and pouches of questionable substances everywhere… only now there was a silvery mixture bubbling merrily in Draco's medium-sized cauldron. Harry chanced a sniff and regretted it; the odor felt like it was clogging in his nostrils.

Draco shut the door and brushed past him, and Harry got his first good look at the other boy. He still wore his crisp button-down shirt, though the green and silver tie was missing. Black trousers with what looked suspiciously like chalky handprints on the thighs. And his current hairstyle would have given Harry's a run for its Galleons. But Harry had not survived a month and a half of dating him for nothing; he knew when to be choosy about his comments.

"Did you eat already?" he asked.

Draco turned, frowning, and shook his head. "Been here since Charms got out."

Harry shifted to the other foot and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm not early. Late, actually. Did you forget? I thought we'd agreed to—"

Draco waved his words away and squeezed his eyes shut. "I know, I know. I just… got wrapped up in this."

"Oh." Harry stood in the middle of the room, feeling awkward. The Slytherin dorm was awfully empty; he always noticed it, but things were hitting especially hard today. Only two beds where five should be. The elves had been kind, removing any reminders of the two who had not returned to Hogwarts, and the one who was still in St. Mungo's. "Are you at a good place to take a break? We could take a walk."

"Harry…" Draco's voice was a mere breath. He was already thumbing through a series of notes next to his cauldron. "I really can't go anywhere. I've finally got this damn thing blending correctly for once. It has to be watched."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked around, unable to decide if he should let it go or just allow the disappointment to take over as it so wanted to do. Draco watched him out of the corner of his eye, one finger poised over a certain notation. Harry gave a soft sigh and sat down on Draco's bed, careful to avoid any of the books. "It's alright. We can stay here."

Draco smiled slightly. He picked up a quill and began to jot down notes on the parchment in front of him. Harry watched him for a moment, and then turned his attention to the duvet he was sitting on. Quilted green fabric, with heavy Flox Fairy down inside. He longed to stretch out on top of it, but the books were scattered everywhere and Harry wasn't about to disturb whatever odd form of organization Draco had worked out. He wanted to stay for longer than three minutes, after all.

A lot longer.

A shiver rocked down Harry's spine, and the room suddenly felt too warm. Was he really going to…? He licked his lips, immensely thankful that Draco was so immersed in his potion. The sharp-eyed Slytherin would see his discomfort in an instant, and Harry definitely was not ready to ask, point blank, if he could stay the night. They had class early the next morning anyway, and Draco would probably nix the idea straight off. But sitting on the bed now, actually contemplating sleeping under that very blanket with Draco curled next to him was making him flush. He felt as if he'd been keeping a secret from his boyfriend, or as if he knew something personal about Draco that he wasn't supposed to know.

Harry fidgeted.

"What will it do, anyway?" he asked quickly.

Draco looked up, eyebrow arched. "What?"

Harry gestured. "Your potion."

The blond sniffed, already skimming down his notes. "Night sight."

"What?"

Draco scribbled something down and glanced up impatiently. "Night sight. You know? Like a nocturnal animal. Improved hearing, and if I can just get the stupid moonstone and sopophorous to fuse correctly, it might even allow a bit of physical metamorphosis."

Draco's tone was clipped, for all his words, and for a moment, Harry was quiet. "Sounds a little… poisonous."

"Not with the feverfew." Yes, Draco's responses were getting very short indeed.

Harry frowned. "I thought feverfew didn't work alongside nightshade."

"It doesn't."

He waited, but Draco was no longer paying him any attention. He'd known his boyfriend to go incredibly oblivious to the rest of the world while picking about with his potions, but this behavior was not usually reserved for him as well. Usually Draco made some effort to acknowledge his presence, even if it was simply the absence of ire floating on the air. But Harry could feel it now, as tangible as if he'd dived into a pond of water. Tension cracked in the room, and Harry straightened, settling both palms on his knees.

He couldn't think if Draco had any reason to be angry with him. He hadn't missed any of their planned time together; Merlin, there was so little of it that he could hardly forget about such a precious thing. Draco was tense often enough, but this last weekend, he'd been much snippier, quicker to fly off the handle. Apparently the potion wasn't going so well, but Harry knew the due date was ages away. Perhaps Snape had said something to him? Or maybe more of his little Slytherin admirers had slipped him Valentines when he—

Harry froze. Valentines. He stifled a groan, feeling his face heat up again. Of course. He really was an idiot for forgetting. But he honestly hadn't considered that Draco might genuinely be bothered by such a silly display of misplaced affection.

But he had been in the stands on Sunday, or at least watching. Harry stood up and moved closer to his boyfriend.

"You know, those girls were just being stupid," he said.

Draco looked up slowly, face blank. "Who?"

"The girls. On Sunday, with the hearts."

"What girls?" Draco was staring at him now, a tightness to his jaw. Harry cocked his head.

"On the Quidditch pitch."

"Oh, that." Draco dismissed it with a look, and went back to scribbling.

Harry frowned and stepped closer. "Isn't that why you—"

"Why I what?"

Well, this wasn't getting them anywhere. Harry started over. "It's just Valentine's Day, Draco. They've all got crushes and they're too silly to help themselves. You got some at breakfast, I saw them. But it'll be over in a few days."

Draco was looking at him again, expression frozen. "What are you talking about, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, feeling a twinge of annoyance at how vague Draco was being. "I don't really like Valentine's Day either. I practically get drowned in hearts every year."

Draco's face didn't change in the slightest. "Charming."

"They don't— they don't mean anything," he said, exasperated. "I've only got one Valentine that I care to give, and it's yours. I know you don't really like the holiday much, but I was hoping maybe on Tuesday, we could—"

"I'd rather not, Harry."

Harry stopped in his tracks, completely unable to speak. Gods, he hadn't thought Draco was this angry. But his boyfriend's face… Harry blinked. Reddening, up the throat and around the ears. His hands were white, clutching the desktop. The cauldron bubbled mockingly in the silence, a loud _shloooop_ , and Harry reached out to touch his arm.

"Draco. Those girls do that every year. It's not as if I ask them to—"

"Bloody hell, Harry, I don't care about all of your various Valentines!" Draco shrugged his hand off his arm with a jerk. His eyes sparked. "It's hardly worth getting messed in the head over a few stupid girls and their shoddy spell-work."

Harry frowned and straightened. "But if it bothers you that much—"

Draco's eyes went hard. "No, I think you misunderstand, Harry. I don't fucking care. Valentine's Day is a ridiculous excuse for annoying behavior. If you need to get in the spirit so badly, why don't you just go and find one of your little fans and indulge her? I'm sure she'd be more than happy to fill the void."

Draco turned away from him abruptly and focused on his book, glaring at the pages. The sudden silence filled Harry's ears and pressed on his very bones. He opened his mouth and shut it. His mind was clambering to tell him how unnecessary the whole exchange had been, how, if he could just go back, then maybe…

Something in his chest ached, dull and familiar. Harry swallowed.

"Fine," he muttered. "Whatever you want." He turned, and grabbed his coat from the bed. Draco did not even look up as he pushed the door open and left the dormitory. The Slytherin common room was empty, thankfully, but Harry would not have cared if every seventh year in the school had been there to witness him leave. He made his way up out of the dungeons and was halfway to the second floor before the churning thoughts solidified in his mind.

No. Just… no.

Harry slid his hand up the banister as the first set of stairs ground into motion. He felt empty, hollow, and finally quiet. What was the point anyway? It was only one day a year. He'd let it pass, just like any other day.

* * *

 _Step 12: Rant_

 _Library, 9:49 PM_

"…and I don't know what his bloody problem is, Hermione, he just snaps at me half the time and disappears into his precious potions classroom the other half!" Harry paced about in front of the table, running his hands through his hair.

Hermione leaned forward and patted at his arm as he walked. "Well, he's pretty busy, isn't he?"

Harry shook his head. "It's like he's avoiding me. Especially this week. He bloody well hates Valentine's Day. Merlin knows I'm not a fan of it either, but I thought maybe this year…"

"You could spend it with him," she finished. Harry nodded and threw himself down in the chair next to her.

It hadn't been his idea to tell Hermione about this. No, he'd been planning on stalking to the Charms section of the library and vengefully catching up on his reading instead. Bugger if he ever came out. Draco could come searching if he wanted to talk to him. But Hermione had seen right through his mask as soon as he set foot down her aisle. She'd put down her book - Arithmancy for Advanced Wizards, volume 4 - and turned all of her considerable smarts into getting it from him, whatever it was that had him on edge. He'd been quite successful at distracting her at first, but his anger had leached through into everything: Quidditch, Hogsmeade, even how much he despised their old History of Magic classes. Finally, she'd demanded that he just tell her what in Merlin's name was turning him into such a grouch.

And he'd snapped at her. But he'd snapped the truth.

"But Harry, what did he say, exactly?"

"That he thinks the whole thing is a bloody joke! That I could go find a girl to be my Valentine, and to leave him alone, basically."

"Oh, Harry." She pursed her lips and studied her hands for a time. "Is he like this often?"

Harry blushed, but it suddenly felt too stupid to bother with secrecy now. "More often than you'd think. It's like he's changed his mind about this whole thing."

"But he was the one who—"

"I _know_ , Hermione. I was there." He sighed. "It was fucking freezing, but I was there."

She sighed too. For a moment, the only sound was of Madam Pince checking out books up at the front of the room, and Harry had a moment to wonder if any of their schoolmates had managed to overhear them. He'd been careful about being quiet, and Hermione was always discreet. But… Harry shook his head again. He'd certainly find out tomorrow, come Hades or high water.

"Harry, did you have plans for Tuesday? Big ones?"

"No." He rubbed his face. "I wanted to. But he'd hate that. I was just going to give him chocolate. Try to be with him that evening. Maybe go flying. It's all we ever do."

"Well," she said carefully, "I know _I_ don't see you two together very often, but I thought maybe you—"

"No," he said shortly. "You've seen just about as much as anyone. Including me. Except for the snogging."

Hermione reddened slightly. She straightened her pile of books and looked at him. "Maybe he misunderstood you. Maybe he really did have a problem with those girls and their stupid cards, and he just got angry."

"I don't think he did, Hermione." Harry's head felt like a load of bricks. He slumped down onto the table, resting his chin on his arms. "He really thinks Valentine's Day is a waste. He didn't even know what I was talking about when I brought up those girls."

"Why doesn't he like it?"

Harry could have given her reasons. Draco's aloof approach to everything that didn't directly concern him… The disgust the blond still exhibited for what he considered insipid behavior. Most of all, Draco's parents, and where they'd ended up in their 'perfect' relationship. But that last was something that, but for a stroke of accidental luck, _he_ shouldn't even be aware of. Harry looked away. "He thinks it's foolish. Stupid people. Stupid behavior."

"How… how does he feel about you?"

Harry stared at his friend, his throat tight. He really had no idea. He wondered, suddenly, if he ever had. He'd thought so, but…

"That fucking bastard."

They both turned. Ron was standing behind them, face redder than dragon's fire. His friend's eyes had gone dark. "I knew it. I knew he'd end up doing this."

Hermione stood. "Ron—"

"No, Hermione, I have tried to be quiet. I have. But he treats Harry like a bloody house elf and I'm not going to sit by and watch it any longer."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Ron, you don't even know what's going on."

"Yes, I do." Ron strode forward and flung his arm out. "He's Harry's boyfriend, right? But he doesn't even acknowledge him in public; I've never seen him act any differently around Harry than he did before!"

Hermione's mouth worked and Harry stood up, facing Ron. "It's not as bad as that, Ron, really. He just—"

"Fuck, Harry! Don't defend him, he's using you!"

"He's not using me!"

"Well, he should at least be with you in public! Acting like _more_ than a bloody acquaintance. Fucking hell, I haven't once seen him kiss you, not since Christmas. Not that I'd want to, but it's the whole principle of the thing!"

Hermione slammed her book down on the table. "Oh, that's rich, Ron, of course that would be what's got you all riled up!"

Ron stared at her, the rest of his argument falling from his lips. "What are you talking about? Of course it bothers me! He should act like he's with Harry, not like they're sneaking around!"

"Ron—" Harry started, but Hermione overrode him, her voice almost a cry.

"Sneaking around? Oh, Ronald, God forbid that someone should want to take things slowly! That they not push each other for something they don't want! Maybe you'd rather everyone just got on with it right away!"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about? Malfoy's a prick! He puts down everything Harry wants, makes him bend over backward so that he can be comfortable with this little arrangement, never mind what Harry might need—"

"Ron, stop it," Harry tried. "Hermione—"

"Maybe if you just thought about other people once in a while, you'd see that we're not all like you!" Hermione shot back, hands curled into fists.

"Yeah, that's for sure!" Ron shouted. "I'm going to tell him exactly what I think of him, and I don't care if it's selfish, or impolite, or none of my business. Maybe then he'll get it through his thick skull that people aren't just toys to be—"

"What is all this shouting?" Madam Pince rushed up, parchment and quill in hand, and several younger students in tow. They were staring wide-eyed at the trio, as if they could not believe anyone would dare violate the sanctuary of the library. Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him to it once more.

"Well, maybe you can just go do it alone, Ronald! Maybe you can just do everything alone!" With that, Hermione snatched up her books and stormed down the aisle, eyes glimmering. Ron gaped after her, and then anger flared back into his face and he too stalked off, down another aisle, muttering. Madam Pince glared at Harry, mouth working as if she wanted to blame him for everything, then walked briskly back to her desk, hands clenched around the parchment and quill she still held. The students followed hurriedly.

Harry blinked in the new thudding silence, alone once again and completely at a loss.

~tbc~


	5. Day Five

DAY FIVE: VALENTINE'S DAY, February 14th

 _Step 13: Alone time is necessary_

 _Front steps, 7:14 AM_

The air was cool, the sky a splash of bright copper. Harry followed the golden streaks upward with his eyes as they melted into violet. Purple threads of cloud zigzagged over the horizon, and pale yellows and pinks interwove with the sun's light. A flock of tiny birds dipped and whisked about, dark against the fiery tableau.

Harry pulled his scarf closer about his throat and blinked slowly. The new day's warmth fingered his cheeks, and for just an instant, the breeze pulled back and everything was still and cozy.

It had been beyond early when he rose; the castle held a blanket of silence he'd recognized. But that was just as well; he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone in the hallways on his way out of the school. The sky had been that purplish color that precedes the sun, and Harry could just imagine the strange, tantalizing stillness of the dawn air.

He hadn't seen the sun rise in months. Nearly a year, actually. It had begun as an accidental habit. Coming out of his tent in the chill mornings during the war, unable to sleep for the nightmares that stalked his every dream, Harry had found an odd comfort in seeing the first tip of orange peeking over the horizon. The shadows crept away as if slithering back into the earth, and the warmth of gold spilled over the land like billowing gauze. He couldn't remember the last time his sleep had been troubled enough to make him seek the sun's first moments, but he remembered clearly how it had made him feel. In the whole vast world of fighting and killing, surrounded by the dying and the ones he dreaded the deaths of, the dawn had calmed him, reminded him of how… small they all were. How, if one day he failed to rise, the world would keep going and the warmth would return, morning after morning.

Surprisingly, Ron's bed had been empty. The curtains hung parted, and watery light streamed over the tussled sheets. Harry had a moment of wondering where Ron might be, if Hermione was out of her bed, and making the obvious connections in his mind. But he was too tired to put much effort into it. He wanted out, in the vast quiet, where he could sit and let himself not think for once. He grabbed his hat and the coat Draco had given him, and shut the door softly behind him, cutting off the sounds of snores.

He stopped short at the threshold of the common room, and then backed up into the stairwell, out of sight. Hermione and Ron were there, sitting on the sofa directly in front of the fireplace. The flames threw an orange glow over his friends' features. There was something about Hermione's face as she sat there, fingers fidgeting with her hair. She was speaking, her words far too low to hear. Harry lowered himself to the steps, not quite sure what he was doing, and watched.

Whatever she was saying came haltingly; her shoulders twitched and hunched as she spoke, her hand movements grew jerkier. Hermione's face crumpled in a nervous grimace and her cheeks grew redder and redder with every word. Ron's mouth hung open; he stared at his girlfriend.

Ron and Hermione's feelings had always been so plain for Harry to see, but now… In a flash, he was certain he knew what Hermione was saying, what words were twisting Ron's expression into utter astonishment. For an instant, the curiosity was overwhelming. Harry felt so bereft, and in the hole settled a longing as intense as any fear he'd ever experienced. He needed to hear it suddenly, hear them.

Harry lifted his wand and muttered a quiet listening spell. Hermione's voice came to his ears as if she were sitting right next to him.

"…feel I should. And there's been so much time to do it, but I just… I don't know."

The space of a breath. Then— "Hermione. I don't…" Ron struggled for a moment. "I don't _deserve_ anything like that. Unless _you_ decide that I do."

Ron's voice held a well of emotion that filled Harry to the brim and threatened to trickle out down his face. Harry blinked, guilt stealing up like claws over his shoulders. He silenced the spell with a jerk of his wand and rested his chin on his knees.

He doubted he'd ever have the courage to say anything like what Hermione was saying now, to Draco. The thought of Draco's face upon hearing it, the disbelief and fear of being told such a confession, made Harry's stomach flop over helplessly. They just… weren't close enough. It was time to start facing facts; he didn't know Draco well enough yet to even consider such a tender admission. That sort of intimacy, the kind Hermione and Ron were discussing right that instant, was wholly beyond Harry. He knew he wanted that with Draco, or was beginning to want it. Whenever they kissed, he felt it in his gut, tickling at his limbs. Whenever he saw Draco across the Great Hall, or bent over a book, brushing his hair back with slender fingers, it was there. But it was terrifying to think of letting someone get that close to you, in… inside you, even. Close enough to hold your heart in a single hand. Close enough to drop it into a void and leave emptiness in its place.

Ron was speaking quietly to Hermione now, his words vanishing under the crackle of the fire. Their faces were very close, his hands cupped against her cheeks. Her eyes were a watery brown and she nodded every so often. Ron's palm slid down her face and tilted her chin downward. His lips brushed her forehead. Hermione's shoulders shook, and then she lunged forward and clasped her arms around Ron. He stroked her hair with one hand.

That had been nearly an hour ago; Harry had sat in the stairwell until they left the tower for Merlin knew where. Now, he traced the peaks of the farthest hills with his eyes. It seemed to be the week for eavesdropping. First Susan Bones, then Neville and Padma. Now Hermione and Ron. Was it a requirement for Valentine's Day that someone overhear one's every trouble and complication? Was it a requirement for _him_ to overhear it all? And just how many of his fellow students had gained priceless information about his lovely relationship with Draco over the past few days? Harry grimaced. He hadn't been as careful as he could have been. If Draco wanted discretion, maybe he wasn't the one the blond should be dat—

Coldness stole over Harry's shoulders, despite the sun's warmth. He himself didn't want discretion. It fell like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach; truth, but with it a whole host of other, more worrisome realisations. He wanted to be able to kiss Draco in front of other people, to hold his hand if he desired it. To sit closer to him than a friend would, bodies touching all up one side. He wanted to glare Valentine-givers into cowering silence just because they _knew_ who he was to Draco.

But most of all, he wanted Draco to want to do the same to him.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely heard the door creak behind him. Someone came slowly down the steps and sat at Harry's side. He caught a flash of white-blond hair in the corner of his eye.

Harry sighed inwardly. Was everyone up this early? Perhaps he should just go back to bed to be alone.

Draco did not look at him for a long time, and Harry studied the hills and the light bleeding across their edges. Finally, Draco spoke.

"Thought you might be out here."

Harry didn't answer, and Draco shifted once beside him. "Weasley paid me a visit last night."

Matter-of-fact, no real emotion there. Harry hesitated, then turned before he could find a reason not to and took Draco's face in his hands. He cradled his jaw softly, angling this way and that to check for the tell-tale purple of bruises. Draco let him, sitting with his hands in his lap. He studied Harry's face in silence, but Harry did not meet his gaze.

"He was remarkably restrained," Draco said in a low voice. Harry glanced up, caught a flicker in the blond's eyes, and dropped his hands. He turned back to watch the sun, glad he did not have a reason to be furious with his best friend on top of everything else.

Draco sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Harry, last night—"

"It's fine," Harry said shortly. Draco stopped, looking at him. Harry studied his own hands. He was suddenly tired, and angry at Ron, whatever he'd said to Draco. He didn't want a Ron-induced apology, one that might hold water for a time, but ultimately wouldn't change much.

Draco's voice was flatter when he responded. "Fucking hell, Potter, it's not fine. You're angry with me."

Harry shrugged, fighting against the desire to just yell and be done with it. He didn't want to get into this. He was too tired to think about the right thing to say, and yes, too angry, and he was missing the sunrise. It was Valentine's Day; he wasn't supposed to be arguing with his boyfriend. They were supposed to be getting along, at the very least. But then again, there was really no point, was there?

Draco jerked at one of his gloves, and then raked a bare hand through his hair. "What do you want, then? I shouldn't have said what I said last night. It's been a lousy week."

Harry remained silent. He could feel Draco's frown. The Slytherin spoke again; his voice bit, the edge of sarcasm seeping into the words. "I don't know what else to say, Harry. Maybe I'm just too self-absorbed to get it, as Weasley was _so kind_ to point out last night."

"Maybe you are."

Draco stared at him, mouth slightly open. Harry knew he was courting another row; the building turmoil in Draco's features was plain to see. He sighed and went on before the other boy could get a word out. "Maybe we both are."

Draco looked down. He shook his hair out of his face. Harry stared at him, the familiar slope of his jaw, the dark eyebrows lowered pensively. Something stirred in his chest, and before he knew it, the question was out.

"Do you like this?"

Draco looked up, frowning. Harry gestured between them. "This, I mean. Do you like it?"

A snort. "Potter."

Harry only stared back. Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yes. _Yes_. I - like - this." He imitated the gesture with one hand. "If I didn't like it, you can be sure I'd be in bed where it's warm, not out here worrying about the state of _this_ , Harry."

Draco's tone was aloof. The vague sensation in Harry's chest grew. It wasn't hollowness, or discomfort. It was more like a sense of calm. Not warming. He didn't feel comforted by it, per se. More… stilled by it. Something was coming, he could feel it. Words? Action. He wasn't sure.

"No one knows about this, Draco," he said. His boyfriend's eyes met his, then darted away. Realisation was filling the blond's face, just as detachment was finding a niche. Harry watched with a sinking feeling.

"They don't need to know about it, Potter." His words were hard. "I know it, you know it. Our friends know it. I don't want the whole fucking school to know about my personal life."

"I know," Harry said.

"It's our business, not theirs!" Draco picked up a small pebble from the step by his foot and flung it viciously into the snow on the path. "Why the fuck _would_ they know about it? They'll just whisper in the halls or giggle about it in class. I've been the fucking focal point for this damn school's attention before."

"I think I can understand that particular sentiment, Draco," Harry said sarcastically. His boyfriend's eyes flashed.

"Well, then, what the hell do you want from me?" He rounded on Harry, openly furious. "Shall I hold your hand on the way to class? Get caught in a few broom closets with my hands down your trousers like that idiot Finnigan and his girlfriend?"

Harry frowned. "Don't be stupid, that's not what I want, Draco."

"Well, what then? You want me to fawn all over you? You want to fawn all over me? We're a couple, Potter, not a fucking fair exhibit. I'm not going to get snogged by my boyfriend in the Great Hall just so they can all have something new to talk about!"

"Draco, I'm not going to snog you in the Great Hall!" Harry tore a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath. "I don't want you to declare your feelings for me in front of the whole school, or sneak around in broom closets, or anything like that."

He searched his boyfriend's face and saw only apprehension and misunderstanding there. It made his entire body go hot. He looked Draco right in the eye. "But I'm not going to act like we're not together. In the halls, or… or in class." He dropped his eyes to his feet, settling his chin on his knees. "Not going to pretend we just _know_ each other. I don't want to. It's not how I feel."

"I know that!" Draco sighed fitfully. " _I know that_. But I don't see why everyone needs to be aware of it! It's not some fucking status symbol; we're together. It's ours, not theirs—"

Harry turned abruptly and pulled Draco toward him, shuttering his words in a deep, searching kiss. Draco's lips parted in surprise, and Harry swept over his tongue, his teeth, the inside of his mouth, tasting. Draco responded tentatively, little brushes of his tongue. His breath sighed out in a whoosh. Hands clenched fistfuls of his coat, then pushed at his shoulders. Draco jerked his head to the side, breathing heavily. "Harry, stop. What if—"

"Why not?" Harry interrupted, more loudly than he'd intended. He swept a hand toward the closed doors of the school. "Why not, Draco? What's going to happen? They'll talk? Of course they'll talk, they always talk!"

Draco licked his lips. "They will if you intend to do that again!"

"Just so you know, I don't," Harry shot back. "But it wouldn't matter what I intended to do, you'd respond the same way. Maybe you're ashamed of me, or someth—"

"I'm not ashamed of you!" Draco hissed hotly. There was a new, visceral sharpness in his voice, something directed at Harry, yet not directed at him, and it made him pause. "It's not their business what we do! It's private, Harry, for fuck's sake."

"I know that!"

"It's not for them! I don't like the idea of people seeing us."

Harry sighed, feeling tired and angry. "I know you don't like people to see. But you don't let _anyone_ see, you know? I want… I want something more than that, Draco."

He stood and brushed off his jeans. He didn't want to look at Draco. It was easier to speak, to move, to think when he could pretend he'd spoken to himself. Whatever Draco's reaction, Harry did not want to have to respond to it then. If it was bad… well. He would deal with it better tomorrow.

"I'm going in," he said softly. "Almost time for Charms, and I'm hungry."

He turned and went inside, leaving Draco sitting on the steps. The front atrium was warm, full of voices from the Great Hall, but the emptiness in Harry's body just seemed to grow larger.

* * *

 _Step 14: Start your day_

 _Great Hall, 7:59 AM_

Harry took a bite of his banger without tasting it. Around him, the chatter was good-natured, punctuated by giggles and greetings. The Hufflepuffs had taken to calling "Happy Valentine's Day" down the table to each other in singsong voices. The Ravenclaws were subdued, as always, quietly going about the business of eating. Harry's own housemates were talking amicably, tossing bits of food across the table at each other's heads - the boys - or whispering to each other - the girls.

He hadn't bothered to look at the Slytherins.

As he picked up his goblet, someone slung a leg over the bench next to him and sat down. "Hey, Harry."

It was Ron. Harry nodded. "Hey."

Hermione edged onto the bench on the other side of the tall redhead. Ron didn't even wait for her to get comfortable; he slipped an arm around her waist and gathered her close to his side, kissing her hair. Hermione reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice, but even as she did, Harry saw her folding herself into Ron's embrace, pillowing her head on his shoulder and yawning. "Morning, Harry."

He nodded again, watching them: Hermione's hand, rubbing Ron's upper back in slow sweeps, the protective curl of his friend's body around his girlfriend's. Ron leaned over and picked up a piece of toast, whispering into Hermione's ear as he did so. Her smile was brighter than the sunlight outside. She laughed and took a bit of melon from Ron's plate.

Whatever had been said, they'd dealt with it. Harry found himself wondering how long they had until the next bridge in their relationship was finally crossed. Maybe a week… Maybe only today. He wondered if he would be able to tell when they came down to breakfast the next morning. He was suddenly more certain than he'd been about anything that Ron would not tell him when it happened. At least, not at first.

He wondered if he, in turn, would tell Ron the first time he and Draco took that step. If they took that step.

Something ugly began to gnaw at his stomach. Harry took another bite of scrambled eggs and stubbornly ignored it. He was not yet ready to deal with it, whatever it was.

A flurry of hooting above dragged his attention away from himself. The owls soared in, a strange cloud of greys, browns, and whites mixed with an overabundance of red. Hedwig made for him, flapping madly, and barely succeeded in dropping onto his shoulder before a tumult of feathers and hooting announced the arrival of about fifty Valentines. Harry pushed his toast to the side for the owls to eat and studied the pile. It mocked him, all lace and candy and shiny paper. He shoved the pile away and settled his chin in his hands.

Up and down the table, his housemates were receiving their own owls. Ginny slid a card out of a red envelope and read, then flushed. She craned her neck to look at Dean. A bright smile played about her face, spilling her features into unconstrained happiness. Dean grinned back warmly. Harry fought the urge to sigh. He looked at Seamus instead, and was just in time to watch a flurry of tiny lavender petals burst out of a matching envelope into his roommate's face. Seamus barked a laugh and sought Lavender out down the table, where she sat with several sixth year girls. Lavender leered at him gamely. Seamus returned the grin, eyes darkening, and Harry knew enough to understand that avoiding the Room of Requirement tonight would be a wise decision.

He went back to poking at his goblet.

At the front of the hall, the Headmaster stood and waved his hands once. "I wish you all a good morning on this, our day of adoration." Dumbledore's blue eyes circled the room, a tiny smile twitching at his lips. "Enjoy yourselves, but please do not allow the celebrations to distract you from your assignments."

The students tittered. Harry caught a glimpse of Snape's scowling face several seats down from the Headmaster. He would no doubt destroy any Valentine that made it into his Potions classroom, just as Draco had done several days ago.

"My goodness," Dumbledore said calmly. "It looks as though I have been singled out." The old wizard bent and picked up a modest-looking card of pale pink. He opened it, eyebrows raised expectantly. He read the note and then turned to his left.

"Why, Minerva. You shouldn't have," he said, smiling brightly.

McGonagall's face looked scandalized. She hmphed and jabbed at her eggs with her fork, blushing furiously. If Harry had been in a better mood, he would have echoed Ron's guffaw.

Something jabbed him in the right arm. Harry turned around, but there was no one there. He tried the other direction and found Romilda Vane smiling sweetly at him over his left shoulder. She fluttered her eyelashes in what was definitely a come-hither look.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Harry," she purred. Harry caught the movement of her hand as she slipped something into her robes. He glanced back up at her, then over at his friends. Hermione glared at the girl, and Ron was frowning.

Harry nodded silently. Romilda Vane walked away, hips swaying. He waited until she'd taken a seat further down the table, then eyed his now-sinister-looking goblet and plate of food. "Suddenly, I'm not hungry."

"Couldn't agree more, mate," Ron said darkly.

* * *

 _Happy Valentine's Day_

 _Transfiguration corridor, 6:25 PM_

"Merlin, I thought she'd never let us leave," Seamus said. Lavender, wearing a deep red top and skirt to match, snickered and kissed his cheek. Her arms were looped around Seamus as if he were a life-raft.

"She's just embarrassed. About time she got up the nerve to ask the old man out, I say. It's not our fault she can't handle the pressure."

Seamus laughed and planted a sloppy kiss on Lavender's lips. "Lucky for me, you can handle it, right, love?"

Her chuckle was entirely too sultry for Harry to ignore. "Oh, but can _you_ handle it?" she asked in a silky tone.

"Countdown's begun," Seamus murmured.

"Good lord, take it somewhere where we don't have to choke on it." Dean appeared at Harry's side, glaring. Ginny walked next to him, having just gotten out of Astronomy. Farther up the hallway, Ron and Hermione meandered, arms tight around each others' waists. Harry rolled his eyes. He knew what day it was, but was it honestly necessary for every couple in the school to accost him with it?

Lavender giggled again and turned to him. "Harry, who's your Valentine?"

Suddenly everyone was looking at him expectantly. He smiled and shook his head. "Been trying to avoid them, to tell you the truth."

"Vane didn't get you then?" Seamus' comment brought titters from everyone. Harry shuddered.

"God, I hope not."

More giggling. Harry let the other six walk on, falling to the back of the group as they made their way downstairs for dinner. It had been a long day and all he wanted was to hole up in his room and not think about the mess he was in.

It had taken him nearly to the end of Charms to realise that he'd basically given Draco an ultimatum that morning. At the time, it hadn't seemed like such a big deal. The words had come out of him as if spoken by another person, and they held a ring of truth he hadn't felt in a long, long time. It was only later that he finally heard what he'd said, actually _heard_ it for what it was.

Change our relationship. Or else.

Harry chewed his lip, feeling sick. Draco hadn't looked up at him once during Charms. He hadn't made an appearance at lunch either, and Harry'd sat through it in miserable, unappetizing silence. It was just as well, considering that any food in front of him had probably been doctored by Romilda Vane somehow. But he really could have cared less what she'd managed to slip him.

Had he inadvertently broken up with his boyfriend? Had he begun the process? It was painfully obvious to him now: Draco didn't want the same things he wanted. His idea of a relationship was so far off Harry's mark that there was no way of being a successful couple, short of one of them changing his mind completely.

Harry made his way slowly down the main staircase with the others, behind a large crowd of fifth year Hufflepuffs just released from Arithmancy. Perhaps… he was expecting too much. Draco was not Hermione, or Ron, and would never prescribe to their sense of romance. He was also, thankfully, not Romilda Vane. The idea of not being with Draco hurt Harry deep inside his chest. Not touching him, not talking with him as they did now, _never_ kissing him. Never holding him. So what if a little bit of secrecy was part of the deal? Wasn't it worth it, in the end? He would still have Draco in private, where it counted.

Or maybe he just… wasn't cut out for a relationship. Harry grimaced. Maybe his screwed up childhood - and early adulthood - had seen to that already.

The Great Hall was almost completely full of students, and the noise level was discomforting. Harry walked past the Ravenclaw table, where a whole line of cooing couples ended with Luna Lovegood staring dreamily at a huge orangey paper heart. Harry made a face. Even Luna? The heart really was atrociously large. It seemed she'd found someone who knew her tastes, at least. Or maybe she'd sent it to herself. He was never sure with her.

Either way, Luna looked happy. It didn't matter whether it was from a self-inflicted Valentine or a secret admirer. And there was Neville, sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table with Padma, eyes only for her. Harry felt especially alone.

He seated himself quickly at Gryffindor and ladled some tomato soup from the massive tureen in the middle of the table. Hermione sat down next to him, and the delicate scent of camellias floated to Harry's nose. Her skin was glowing, a subtle sheen that flickered prettily as she moved. She caught him staring at her, and looked down with a self-conscious smile. Clearing her throat, she flourished her wand and cast several quick spells over the bowl of soup and the various plates of bread and vegetables. After a moment, she nodded, satisfied. Seamus, who had been watching her with a nonplussed eye, poked Harry in the arm from across the table.

"Good news, Harry, you can eat."

"Shut up, Seamus," Ron said absently from Hermione's other side. Seamus responded by picking up a piece of bread and launching it at Ron's nose. Harry turned away.

Hermione was staring at him. "Harry."

"Yes?"

"He's right over there."

Harry didn't know what to say. He took a large bite of bread and pointed to his mouth. Hermione pursed her lips and waited until he swallowed. "Harry, you can't avoid him."

He gaped at her. How did she always zero in on everything so bloody fast? He'd thought her properly distracted by her own boyfriend and his successful gift, but it seemed nothing got past Hermione Granger. "I'm not avoiding him. Can we talk about something else?"

Laughter broke out down the table and Hermione frowned. She leaned closer. "Was your fight last night really that bad?"

"No…" How could he explain succinctly that he might have messed everything up all on his own? Harry put down his roll. "Hermione, I'm not the one avoiding anyone, alright? Just leave it."

"Harry—"

But he didn't hear the rest of her sentence. Susan Bones had risen to her feet over at the Hufflepuff table and was making for Gryffindor with a familiar gleam in her eye. Harry groaned. Probably coming to check on the status of her card; one of the Valentines from that morning was undoubtedly hers. Harry hadn't had the heart to read any of them. He had no idea how he'd managed to sidestep the girl for so long in one day. And now she was walking over to his table, most likely to ask if he'd read the card, and would he come sit with her, perhaps?

"I'm… not hungry," Harry muttered, pushing his barely touched soup away. It seemed he wouldn't get to eat. Again.

"We just got here," Hermione said, looking puzzled.

Harry sighed, trying not to hate the glitter of her skin, and the sweet, perfect scent. She had that, and he had… well. He'd just go back to his room and wait for this silly nonsense of a holiday - which he wasn't supposed to care about, but damn it, he _did_ \- to end. Hermione looked past him, blinked, and then met his gaze.

A hand brushed his shoulder. Harry cringed. Too soon for Susan. Maybe Romilda was back. He turned slowly, waiting for the ambush.

Draco stood there, one hand resting on Harry's shoulder, looking at him. Harry's mouth dropped open. He stared up at Draco. The Slytherin's tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. He pulled his hand away belatedly and fingered one of his trouser pockets.

"I… Draco." It was all Harry could manage; his pulse was pounding in his head. The blond opened his mouth, licked his lips, and closed them again. His eyes darted around the hall before coming back to Harry. He took a breath visibly, and gestured with one hand.

"Mind if I sit?"

The talk at the table had dropped off. Harry could hear Lavender whispering, and felt all of his roommates' eyes on him. His face began to heat up, and as it did, he saw a similar flush rising above Draco's collar.

"Sure. I mean, no. Sit—sit down."

Draco nodded, a jerk of his head, and slid onto the bench next to Harry. He picked up an empty bowl and spooned soup into it mechanically. Took some bread. But he didn't eat. His hands found their way down to his thighs and rubbed nervously. Grey eyes rose to meet Harry's.

Someone shifted, and Harry heard Hermione shush Ron. But he couldn't look. All he could do was stare at his boyfriend. "Draco, what—"

"I'm just trying this. Alright?" Muttered, only for his ear.

Harry's heart thumped swiftly in his chest. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Why?"

"Because you were right." Draco turned away from his scrutiny of the tabletop and fixed Harry with a frank gaze. Raised eyebrows. Challenging. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Draco's eyes were full of tumult, but they pleaded with Harry mutely.

Harry slid his hand under the table and took Draco's. The other boy's hand went stiff, and then, hesitantly, fingers interlaced with his. Harry squeezed and a brief flicker crossed Draco's face.

Harry looked up and found the eyes of the elder Gryffindors on them. Dean stared, as did Ginny, her mouth slightly open. Ron's face was twisted, but he remained silent. Harry had a feeling his foot was being crushed by a certain someone's heel under the table. Lavender had a knowing look on her face, and Seamus was… leering. The Irish boy opened his mouth and took a breath, and in that moment, Hermione spoke.

"Could you pass the pumpkin juice, Seamus?" she asked pointedly.

Seamus glared at her, and handed her the jug. He turned back to Harry.

"And the rolls, please?"

This time, Seamus turned slowly to face Hermione and frowned. But it was no contest; even Ron couldn't stare Hermione down when she had a purpose. Finally, Seamus gave a sigh and dropped his eyes. The talk resumed, albeit stilted, but with the same threads of life it had borne before. Lavender leaned in next to her boyfriend, and Harry was sure he heard, "I told you so."

"What?" Seamus hissed. "I wasn't arguing."

Draco relaxed visibly as the attention moved away from the two of them. He leaned into Harry's side, and Harry wasn't quite sure if it was purposeful or accidental. He chanced a quick glance at Hufflepuff. Susan had regained her seat and was staring openly at the two of them, an injured, surprised expression all over her face. From that angle, she had most likely seen their joined hands under the table. Harry took a long, almost choking sip of pumpkin juice. Draco gazed at him cautiously, and Harry looked right back in silence.

It was comfortable silence, for once.

Eventually, Seamus' almost-food fight with Ron resumed, and Dean and Ginny were laughing again. Harry felt his spirits rise instinctively to his friends' chatter. The warm press of Draco's body along his side was glorious, and unbelievable. Something he'd felt only in the privacy of their rooms, on a secluded stretch of shore at the lake, in the dark recesses of the Quidditch stands, and it was here in the middle of the Great Hall, in full view of everyone. He suspected it might not look so obvious to those over at Ravenclaw, but it felt obvious to him. There was something different about the way Draco sat this time. As if… as if they were together, not just side by side.

Harry was in the middle of a bite of broccoli when Draco shifted. He felt the slight, but insistent press of lips to the corner of his mouth. Harry started, and nearly forgot to swallow. There was a soft gasp down the table, and the flow of conversation dipped again. Warmth flooded through his limbs.

"You didn't have to do that," he said quietly.

Draco was glaring, but not at him. "Yes. I did."

Harry followed his gaze and saw Romilda Vane way down the table, scowling directly at them. Her fingers were clenched so tightly around her spoon that they were white. She looked furious enough to fling the utensil at them.

Harry grinned at Draco. "Happy Val—"

"Don't even try it." Draco stabbed viciously at a piece of broccoli with his fork.

But a second later, there was a soft squeeze on Harry's hand. Draco's thumb drifted over his wrist, and Harry smiled. "Fair enough."

~THE END~


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